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A Partial List of Successful and Popular Plays. Lar^e Cataloifue Free. 
Price 15 Cents Each. Postpaid- Unless Different Price is Given. 


DRAMAS. COMEDIES. ENTER¬ 
TAINMENTS, Etc. 

M. F. 

After the Game, 2 acts, 1 

hrs.(25c) 1 9 

All a Mistake, 3 acts, 2 hrs. (25c) 4 4 
All That Glitters Is Not Gold, 

2 acts, 2 hrs.6 3 

Altar of Riches, 4 acts, 2J4 hrs. 

(25c) 5 5 

Americrn Hustler, 4 acts, 2^/2 

hrs.(25c) 7 4 

Arabian Nights, 3 acts, 2 hrs... 4 5 
Bank Cashier, 4 acts, 2 hrs. (25c) 8 4 
Black Heifer, 3 acts, 2 hrs. (25c)'9 3 

Bonnybell, 1 hr.(25c).Optnl. 

Brookdale Farm, 4 acts, 2)4 hrs. 

(25c) 7 3 

Brother Josiah, 3 acts, 2 h. (25c) 7 4 
Busy Liar, 3 acts, 2)4 hrs. (25c) 7 4 

Caste, 3 acts, 2)4 hrs.5 3 

Corner Drug Store, 1 hr. (25c) 17 14 
Cricket on the Hearth, 3 acts, 

1) 4 hrs.7 8 

Danger Signal, 2 acts, 2 hrs... 7 4 
Daughter of the Desert, 4 acts, 

2) 4 hrs.(25c) 6 4 

Down i.: Dixie, 4 acts, 2)^2 hrs. 

(25c) 8 4 

East Lynne, 5 acts, 2)4 hrs.... 8 7 

Editor-in-Chief, 1 hr.(25c) 10 

Elma, hrs.(25c) Optnl. 

Enchanted Wood, 1^ h.(35c) Optnl. 

Eulalia, 1)4 hrs.(25c) Optnl. 

Face at the Window, 3 acts, 2 

hrs.(25c) 4 4 

From Sumter to Appomattox, 4 

acts, 2)4 hrs...(25c) 6 2 

Fun on the Podunk Limited, 

1) 4 hrs.(25c) 9 14 

Handy Andy (Irish),2 acts,l )4 h. 8 2 
Heiress of Iloetown, 3 acts, 2 

hrs.(25c) 8 4 

High School Freshman, 3 acts, 

2 h.(25c) 12 

Home, 3 acts, 2 hrs.4 3 

Honor of a Cowboy, 4 acts, 2)4 

hrs.(25c) 13 4 

Iron Hand, 4 acts, 2 hrs. .(25c) 5 4 
It’s All in the Pay Streak, 3 

acts, 1^ hrs.(25c) 4 3 

Jayville Junction, 1)4 hrs.(25c) 14 17 
Jedediah Judkins, J. P., 4 acts, 

2) 4 hrs.(25c) 7 5 

Kingdom of Heart’s Content, 3 

acts, 2)4 hrs.(25c) 6 12 

Light Brigade, 40 min....(25c) 10 

Little Buckshot, 3 acts, 2)4 hrs. 

(25c) .7 4 

Lodge of Kye Tyes, 1 hr.(25c)13 
Lonelyville Social Club, 3 acts, 

1)4 hrs.(25c) 10 


M. F. 

Louva, the Pauper, 5 acts, 2 h.. 9 4 
Man from Borneo, 3 acts, 2 hrs. ' 

(25c) 5 2 

Man from Nevada, 4 acts, 2)4 

hrs.(25c) 9 5 

Mirandy’s Minstrels.. . . (25c) Optnl. 

New Woman, 3 acts, 1 hr.3 6 

Not Such a Fool as He Looks, 

,3 acts, 2 hrs.5 3 

Odds with the Enemy, 4 acts, 

1)4 hrs.7 4 

Old Maid’s Club, 1)4 hrs. (25c) 2 16 

Old School at Hick’ry Holler, 

1) 4 hrs.(25c) 12 9 

Only Daughter, 3 acts, 1 )4 hrs. 5 2 
On the Little Big Horn, 4 acts, 

2) 4 hrs.(25c) 10 4 

Our Boys, 3 acts, 2 hrs.6 4 

Out in the Streets, 3 acts, 1 hr. 6 4 
Pet of Parson’s Ranch, 5 acts, 2 h. 9 2 
School Ma’am, 4 acts, 1)4 hrs.. 6 5 
Scrap of Paper, 3 acts, 2 hrs. . 6 6 
Seth Greenback, 4 acts, 1 )4 hrs. 7 3 
Soldier of Fortune, 5 acts, 2)4 h. 8 3 
Solon Shingle, 2 acts, 1)4 hrs., 7 2 
Sweethearts, 2 acts, 35 min.... 2 2 
Ten Nights in a Barroom, 5 

acts, 2 hrs.7 4 

Third Degree, 40 min.... (25c) 12 

Those Dreadful Twins, 3 acts, 

2 hrs.(25c) 6 4 

Ticket-of-Leave Man, 4 acts, 2)4 

hr.s.8 3 

Tony, The Convict, 5 acts, 2)4 

hrs.(25c) 7 4 

Topp’s Twins, 4 acts, 2 h..(25c) 6 4 
Trip to Storyland, 1)4 hrs. (25c) 17 23 
Uncle Josh, 4 acts, 2)4 hrs. (25c) 8 3 
Under the Laurels, 5 acts, 2 hrs. 6 4 
Under the Spell, 4 acts, 2)4 

hrs.(25c) 7 3 

Yankee Detective, 3 acts, 2 hrs. 8 3 

FARCES. COMEDIETTAS, Etc. 

April Fools, 30 min.3 

Assessor, The, 10 min.3 2 

Aunt Matilda’s Birthday Party, 

35 min. 1' 

Baby Show at Pineville, 20 min, .19 

Bad Job, 30 min.3 2 

Betsy Baker, 45 min.2 2 

Billy’s Chorus Girl, 25 min... 2 3 

_ OA _A * 


Borrowing Trouble, 20 min,... 3 5 

Box ,and Cox, 35 min.2 1 

Cabman No. 93, 40 min.2 2 

Case Against Casey, 40 min...23 
Convention of Papas, 25 min... 7 

Country Justice, 15 min.8 

Cow that Kicked Chicago, 20 m. 3 2 


T. S. DENISON A COMPANY, 154 W. Randolph St.. Cfaicai^o 

-- ■ ' • ■ ' . ■ ' 



























































A PRAIRIE ROSE 


A COMEDY-DRAMA OF THE KANSAS PRAIRIES 
IN FOUR ACTS 


BY 


EDITH F. A. U. PAINTON 


rl 

AUTHOR OF 


'‘As a Woma7t Thinketh" and “A Burns Rebellion^^ 


DEDICATION 


To the first cast of characters, wherever they may 
now be, who by their faithful interpretations and 
most helpful suggestions played so large a part in 
first successfully presenting the untried drama to 
the public, the author would most gratefully dedi¬ 
cate this first publication of "A Prairie Rose” 



CHICAGO 

T. S. DENISON & COMPANY 

Publishers 


A PRAIRIE ROSE 


\ 


CA 


CHARACTERS. 

Silas Wilder . A Deaf Old Ranchman 

Dr. Robert Raymond . A Young Chicago Physician 

Philip Bryant . A Wealthy Young Lawyer of Chicago 

Archie Featherhead . A Young Chicago Dude 

Bill Briggs . :...A Kansan Cowboy 

Mose . Philip Bryant’s Servant 

Ralph Wilder . Younger Brother of Silas 

’Lizy Jane Slocum . Silas’ Housekeeper, Later his Wife 

Dorothy Deane . Phil’s Sweetheart, Later his Wife 

Agnes Raymond . Robert’s Divorced Wife 

Rose Wilder —“A Prairie Rose” . Daughter of Ralph 


Scene— The Prairies of Kansas, and Chicago. 


Time— The Present Day. 


Time of Playing —About Tzvo Hours and Thirty Minutes. 
SYNOPSIS. 

Act I—Hunting Camp in Kansas. 

Act 11—The Wilder Shack, Two Weeks Later. 

Act hi — Chicago. 

Scene I—A Hall in a Hospital, A Month Later. 

Scene H—A Room in S‘ame Hospital, A Week Later. 

Act IV —Chicago. Home of Ph'il and Dorothy. Four Years Later. 


COPYRIGHT, 1913, BY EBEN H. NORRIS. 


2 

©CI,D 34081 


















A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


o 


SYNOPSIS FOR PROGRAM. 

Act I —Archie has an adventure and tells of his love for Rose, 
A “guaranteed proposal.” Robert makes a confession. Silas tells 
the story of his life. Mose gets a bad scare, and Rose gets better 
acquainted wdth her old “pal,” Bill. Archie tries to defend himself. 
Mose makes a mistake. The doctor defines love. “Come on and 
take it, then!” 

Act II—xA.rchie tries “This beautiful sunshine,” and gets to the 
point at last. “O Lordy!” Rose in love. “Cheer up; Rosie! I ain’t 
a kickin’!” Rose is afraid. “I jest think you’ve got the purtiest 
eyes!” Uncle Silas'is willing. “It be all right. Doc!” Silas pro¬ 
poses—to have some ice cream. Mose to the rescue. Rose learns 
the truth. Bill to the defense. “No ye won’t. Bill!” 

Act III— Scene I: Bill on track of the “right steer” at last. 
“Rose loved me fust, an’ she’ll have me now!” “Curse ye! I’m 
square with ye now!” Just an accident! “For—Rose’s—sake!” 

Scene II: Phil and Dorothy come to an understanding. Rose 
is still “powerful sot in her idees !” Silas springs a new sensation 
and incidentally a new and not altogether welcome “Dad.” A recon¬ 
ciliation and a parting. “My poor little girl!” 

Act IV —Afternoon tea. Bill finds hothouse flowers too fragrant 
for his nose. “I didn’t mean to come afore ye got your clo’es on!” 
A' little domestic tiff that blows over satisfactorily. The guaranteed 
proposal fails. Silas is very much married. An old friend unex¬ 
pectedly turns up. “Merciful heavens! It is Rose!” “Back to the 
prairie !” “This !” “Louder, please !” 


STORY OF THE PLAY. 

Silas Wilder and his younger brother. Ralph, had in their youth 
been in love with the same girl. Ralph, being of better education, 
and of a more refined, polished nature than his uncouth brother, 
had won her for his wife, and she had died in giving birth to her 
daughter Rose, the heroine of the story, who bears her dead mother’s 
name. Ralph was so nearly crazed by his grief over the loss of his 
bride that he would never consent to even see his child, but left 
immediately for parts unknown, leaving the baby to the care of his 
bachelor brother, who took her out to his western ranch and 
allowed her to come up in her own way, “jest like a weed.” At 
heart she is sweet and pure, and true, a veritable child of God and 
nature. 

At the opening of the play Rose is about seventeen years of age 
and has attracted the attention of three young men who have come 




4 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


out from Chicago on a hunting trip, and are camping in the vicinity 
of her uncle’s ranch. Two of these young men have fallen in love 
with her—one of them, a young physician, Dr. Robert Raymond, 
who had been previously unhappily married, and divorced; the other, 
a typical dude, whose attempts at love-making supply their full share 
of the comedy. The situation has aroused the jealous suspicions of 
Bill Briggs, cowboy, who has been in love with Rose all his life, 
and prompts him to give expression to the affection he has hitherto 
repressed because of her youth. She, however, has already given 
her love to Dr. 'Raymond, although she herself is not yet aware of 
it, and the cowboy’s confession is too late. When the doctor con¬ 
fesses his love, she at first misunderstands his attentions, but they 
soon become engaged, with the full sanction of the old uncle, who 
has been the only father of her life. 

Philip Bryant, the third member of the camping party, and an old 
college chum of the doctor’s, has become uneasy over the fact that 
his friend has concealed his former marriage from Rose, as he 
fears she may have scruples against marrying a divorced man, and 
Rose accidentally hears him begging his friend to reveal to her the 
secret he says he has not had the courage to uncover, as he knows 
he should. She at once expresses her convictions in the matter 
and breaks the engagement. Bill Briggs sees her grief, and mis¬ 
taking the cause, thinks the doctor has deceived and deserted 
her, and follows him to the city, finally tracking him to the 
hospital, where he is called, and after first telling him that Rose is 
really in love with himself, shoots him. Philip has come after his 
friend, and is just in time to receive the doctor’s assurance that it 
was all an accident, and to hear him request that Bill be spared 
“for Rose’s sake.” 

Rose, who has promised the doctor that she will come to him 
when' he is dying and sends for her, is immediately summoned, 
and while nursing him back to health learns that his former wife 
is not only in Chicago, but that she is a patient at this very hospital, 
and at once conceives the idea of bringing about a reconciliation 
between them. Her father unexpectedly returns to civilization, a 
wealthy man, determined to claim his daughter and make amends 
for the long years of neglect by “making a lady of her.” She 
brings the doctor’s wife to him and leaves the hospital with her 
father. 

Four years later, developed into the hothouse flower of the city, 
she again meets the doctor, who is now a widower, at the home 
of Philip Bryant and his wife, Dorothy, and the past is finally wiped 
out. The comedy is carried on by Silas and his wife, ’Lizy Jane, 
and by Mose, the spoiled negro. 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


5 


CHARACTERS AND COSTUMES. 

Silas Wilder —Old, rotund, jolly, jovial, but big-hearted and 
deep-feeling; very deaf. Gray hair and beard. Acts I and II: 
Working clothes, rough woolen shirt, overalls, high boots, som¬ 
brero. Act III: A grotesque attempt to dress up is apparent. Act IV : 
Same as Act III, worn under heavy overcoat, winter cap with ear- 
laps pulled down over ears, long red woolen scarf wound several 
times around neck, heavy mittens. 

Dr. Raymond —About twenty-eight years old when play opens. 
Acts I and II: Khaki hunting uniform. Act III, Scene I: Street 
costume, derby hat, carries medicine case. Scene II: Night-shirt. 
Act IV; Evening dress. 

Philip —Acts I and II: Khaki hunting uniform. Act III: Street 
costume. Act IV: First entrance, overcoat over evening dress, hat 
and gloves. Second entrance, evening dress. 

Archie —Act I: White suit, white canvas shoes, straw hat, white 
gloves, carries white parasol, hair parted in the middle, face painted, 
wears monocle. Act II: Same as Act I, without hat, gloves and 
parasol. Act IV: Elaborate evening dress, flashy jewels, large 
flower in lapel, etc. 

Bill —Cowboy uniform throughout. 

Ralph —Act III: Fashionable street costume. Act IV; First en¬ 
trance, street costume; second entrance, evening costume; dignified, 
fashionable, middle-aged gentleman. 

Mose —Black face make-up, negro Wig, etc. First three acts, linen 
suit. Act IV: First appearance, white house suit; second appear¬ 
ance, black evening dress, white shirt, very high collar. 

Lizy Jane —Acts I and II; Calico dress, gingham apron; wears 
sunbonnet at first entrance. Act IV: Long rusty black coat over 
fashionable black evening dress, cut low. First entrance, quaint 
bonnet, with black veil around neck, wears gray wig with shoulder 
curls. 

Dorothy —Very pretty, stylish, well bred, a sweet, wholesome girl. 
Act III: Street costume. Act IV: Evening dress. 

Agnes —Fashionable street costume. 

Rose— Act I: Khaki suit with leggings and sombrero. Act II: 
Gingham house dress. Act III: Nurse’s blue-and-white costume, 
white apron, cap, sleeves. Act IV: White evening dress, cut quite 
low. In the first three acts, hair hanging. In Act IV, fashionable 
coiffure, to emphasize change of years. 


6 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


PROPERTIES. 

Act I—Guns for Rob, Phil, Archie, Rose and Bill. Notebook, 
pencil, white handkerchief, and toy pistol for Archie. Cigars for 
Phil and Bob. Corncob pipe for Silas. Pistols for Bill and Rose. 
Box of gaudy hose (gents’) for Mose and Rose. 

Act II—Notebook, white handkerchief and dollar for Archie. 
Dust cloth, chair cushion and geography for "Rose. Red bandana 
kerchief for Silas. Gun, newspaper for Rob. Matrimonial paper, 
letter for Mose. Book for Phil. Knife for Bill. 

Act III—Scene I: Medicine-case for Rob. Pistol for Bill. 
Scene II: Writing-pad and pencil for Dorothy. Palm-leaf fan, 
wine glass with flask of wine, flowers for Rose. Plug tobacco, 
bananas, and cuspidor for Silas. 

Act IV—Tea service with unbreakable cups for Mose. Bell for 
Dorothy. Paper for Phil. Fan for Phil and Dorothy. Sofa 
cushions for Dorothy and Archie. Card, clothes brush, hair brush, 
comb, powder puff, atomizer, small mirror, notebook, handkerchief, 
etc., for Archie. Knife for Mose. Book for Rose. Grips, band- 
boxes, bundles, etc., well filled with things too numerous to men¬ 
tion for Silas and 'Lizy. 


STAGE SETTING. 
Act I. 


. Wood In 5th Groove 

Cut wood In 4th Groove Cut wood In 4th Groove 



Door 


Door!" 


Chairs 
□ □ 


Stand 


• Stand 

Chair □ I I 


Cot 


Chair □ 


Door 



Act IV. 

1 Archway & 
Curtains 


S mall Stand with 
I I Chafina-Dlsh\ 


D Chair 


Sofa 



Door 


STAGE DIRECTIONS. 

R. means right of the stage; C., center; R. C right center; L., 
left; 1 E., hrst entrance; IJ. E., upper entrance; R. 3 E., right en¬ 
trance up-stage, etc.; D. F., door of flat or back of the stage; up¬ 
stage away from footliglits, down-stage, near footlights. The actor 
is supposed to be facing the audience. 

7 





























A PRAIRIE ROSE 


ACT 1 . 

Scene: Hunting camp in Kansas. Stage set as per diagram. 
Wood wings, back drop, etc. 

Curtain rises disclosing Robert Raymond on stump at right front 
and Philip Bryant standing at center back, busily cleaning guns. 
Ai''P hilip speaks he walks forward. 

Philip. By Jove, Rob, Pm getting beastly tired of this rough 
and tumble existence, and getting anxious to return to civilization. 
How long have we been here, anyway? Six weeks, isn’t it? 

Robert. Not quite four, my dear boy! But even that is a long 
time to be away from the fascinating presence of the fair and 
lovely Dorothy, isn’t it? Why don’t you get it settled, Phil? You’d 
better take some advice from an old man, and go in and win. 
I’m sure she’s worth it! 

Phil. An old man? You must be pretty near twenty-eight years 
old, aren’t yoii. Dr. Raymond?—and that’s just five years older 
than myself! What wisdom those extra five years do give you! 
And yet, I doubt, with all their added weight, if you have really 
lived as much as I have! 

Rob. Lived? Yes, Phil, I know what 3^011 mean! (Rises, crosses 
to L.) I’m a poor, struggling doctor, and so not supposed to know 
the ins and outs of the society existence that you men of wealth 
call life. That’s about your idea, isn’t it? 

Phil. (Crosses to Rob, L.) Don’t, Rob! You know I didn’t 
mean anything of that sort. Why will you take ever3qhing so 
seriously? (Up C. Looks L. and R.) I wonder where Mose has 
gone? He’s never around when he’s needed! 

Rob. That’s the penalty you rich fellows pay for keeping a 
servant. 

Phil. O I suppose so,—but it’s worth it! I admire your inde- 

8 



A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


9 


pendence, though, if I don’t imitate it! {Looks R.) Here comes 
young Featherhead! Wonder what he’s got? 

Archie enters R. 4 E. 

Archie. Oh, I say, fellahs,—beg pahden, doncheknow,—but I’ve 
just had such a wemarkable adventuah,—I have, indeed I 

Phil. {Crosses to R., sits.) Tell it, Archie, tell it! 

Archie. {Looks for clean place on ground, takes handkerchief 
from pocket, unfolds it, shakes it daintily, and^.spreads it carefully 
on grass, sitting on it.) Well, sir, I was sauntering slowly along 
through the field, doncheknow, when I saw, about sixteen feet 
ahead of me, three of the prettiest prairie chickens you ever saw,— 
’pon my honor, I did ! “Now,” thinks I to myself, “I’ll take down 
one of them!” But as I was—ah—about to aim at the nearest one, 
you see, I thought I’d better wait until I got into line with all 
three, doncheknow, and aim at the bunch! Well, pwetty soon I 
had ’em all in a stwaight line {rises) and I waised my wide {imi¬ 
tates) and aimed so carefully, and “bang” went the shot {dodges 
'as if from a kick of the gun), and say, fellahs, would you believe 
I killed the whole three birds with one shot? 

Rob. {Sits on log.) Why, Archie,—of course,—we would have — 
to believe it,—if you said so! 

Archie. {Innocently.) But, by jove, I don’t say so, doncheknow! 
The whole three got away. {All laugh.) Well, I say it wasn’t my 
fault! 

Phil. {Laughs.) Oh, we’re quite willing to believe that, Archie. 

Archie. {Sits.) Say, fellahs. I’ve just been over to the sheep 
ranch over here, and ’pon my honah, that little girl has just about 
turned me upside down. She’s not very—ah—polished, doncheknow, 
but (Phil smiles) well, you may laugh, but there’s something about 
her to make a fellah’s blood tingle in spite of himself. Fact. Stun¬ 
ning girl that. 

Phil. You mean that harum-scarum niece of that deaf old 
codger, don’t you—the one they all call “Prairie Rose?” She’s a 
pretty little thing, but as wild and bold as any cowboy around here. 

Archie. That’s the girl. She’s just wonderful; ’pon my honah, 
she is; and I’m clean gone, I weally am. I say, fellahs, tell me how 
to pwopose, 

Phil. Whew! To propose? 

Archie. Yes, I mean it. You must have had—ah—a lot of expe¬ 
rience. Do help a fellah out. I’m completely bowled over about her, 
I am indeed; but I’ve twied and twied, and I just can’t corner her, 
doncheknow, and when I do I don’t know what to say. {Sighs.) 
She’s a wild one. 


10 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


Phil. That’s what she is, Archie. You’ll have to trap her like 
» you would a prairie chicken, or rope and brand her as you would 
a Texas steer, and even after you’ve caught her, it’ll take a lifetime 
to tame her. 

Archie. But ’pon my honah, she’s worth it, doncheknow. But 
come—do tell me how to pwopose. I’m in dead earnest, I am indeed. 

Phil. Come, Bob, you’re the only man of experience here. I’m 
in about the same fix as Archie. Do tell us how you do it, that’s a 
good boy. 

Rob. Oh, cut it, Phil. Let’s joke about something else. (Rises, 
picks up zvater bucket, crosses to tripod and pours tzvo or three 
dippers of zvater in kettle. Kettle should have unslacked lime in 
bottom, so that shortly after Robert puts zvater' in kettle it will 
begin to boil.) 

Archie. But it isn’t a joke, doctor—’pon my word, it isn’t. 

Phil. (After on uneasy glance at Robert, who is nozv up stage, 
looking toward back.) Well, Archie, you must first say, “Miss”— 
what’s her name? 

Archie. (Searches notebook—finally finds her name.) Wilder. 
(Reads.) Miss Rose Wilder. 

Phil. Very well. Say, “Miss Wilder, this beautiful sunshine is 
flooding all my soul with its love inspiring rays.” 

Archie. (Takes out notebook and zvrites rapidly.) Wait a minute 
till I get that—“love inspiring rays”—go on. 

Phil. Then grasp her hand and press it very softly. 

Archie. Yes; half afraid like, I know. (Makes note of it in 
notebook.) 

Phil. And say, “Beautiful maiden, your charming face, your 
fascinating smile, your graceful form, your immaculate soul, your 
gentle footsteps and your musical voice have won my heart, and 
every thought of my mind, every beat of my heart, and every sigh 
of my soul is for you, and you alone.” Got that? 

Archie. (After a pause, writes furiously.) Y-e-s. What next? 

Phil. Then fall on your knees in front of her and say (Archie 
looks at zvhite suit dubiously), “I cannot—no, I will not live with¬ 
out you. Life would be a dreary and bleak wilderness without the 
sunshine of your glorious smile. Will you be mine?” 

Archie. (After busy pause.) Is that all of it, Phil? 

Phil. Yes, that’s all that’s really necessary. Of course, a fellow 
can easily add all the frills and flourishes that he likes. Just stick 
them in any old place, you know! 

Archie. (Writing.) “Dreary and bleak wilderness”—“glorious 
smile”—“be mine”—guess I’ve got it all. (Rises, brushing dust from 
clothes zvith handkerchief, shaking it daintily, etc. Starts off R. 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


11 


4 E., then turns hack.) But, I say, Philip, now do fellahs ever get 
a girl to listen to them? (Phil laughs.) Fellahs, do you know? 

Phil. Why, you must take her driving, and— 

Archie. {Looking all around, aghast.) By jove! Driving? 

Phil. {Nods.) And hunting. She likes that. 

Archie. {Eagerly.) Yes, she likes that—O yes, awfully. {Then 
looks dubiously at rifles.) But, by jove, / don’t. 

Phil. Then of course you must send and get her some flowers. 

Archie. {Proudly.) I thought about that all by myself. (Phil 
looks surprise.) Yes, I weally did—all by myself, ’pon my honah! 
I wired to the city for some roses—yes, ’pon my word I weally did, 
doncheknow, and {searches notebook for date) they ought td get 
here today. They weally had. I must go and—ah—see Mose about 
them—I weally must, you know. {Walks off R. 4 E., then turns 
back again, showing notebook and tapping it with pencil.) Is —this 
—ah—a sure thing, Philip? {Crosses to Phil.) 

Phil. Guarantee it, Archie. {Rises, slaps Archie on back.) 
Never knew it to fail. Used it hundreds of times. 

Archie. {Appears hurt by Phil’s slap, drops notebook and 
pencil and bends to pick them up.) Thanks awfully, Philip. I’ll 
just go off by myself, doncheknow, and study it awhile. 

Archie rises just in time to bump into Mose, who enters R. 4 E. 
and knocks him over. Mose jumps up angrily, rubbing head. Rob 
sits on log. He has sullenly ignored all of preceding conversation, 
manifesting — aside—much uneasiness and impatience at its trend. 

Mose. Say, boss, if yo’ done t’inks dis heah chile’s a hitchin’ 
post, you’s berry much discombobulated, sah. Use a fellah ’spec- 
able if he am cullud. (Phil laughs and crosses L.) 

Archie. Aw beg pahdon, Mose—awfully sorry, and all that, you 
know, ’pon my honah, I am. Didn’t see you coming, doncheknow: 
I didn’t, indeed. 

Mose. Well, don’ youse be tryin’ de same game agin, sah. Dis 
coon don’ stan’ fo’ it, nohow! {Starts off L.) 

Archie. But I say, Mose. 

Mose. {Turning back.) Yes, sah. 

Archie. Have you—been over for the mail yet? 

Mose. No, sah. 

Archie. Well, I’m looking for a box—a box, doncheknow— 
{Indicates sise with hands, Mose imitating) a box of flowers— yes, 
•weally—for Miss Wildah. 

Mose. (Aside.) I golly! Flowers for Miss Wildah! Get next 
to dat, would yo’, boss? (Phil winks and nods. To Archie.) 

0S 

Archie. Well, I wish you would deliver them to. her as soon as 


12 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


you get them from the office. (Mose nods, grinmng.) You under¬ 
stand? At once. {Great assumption of dignity.) 

Mose. {Bows low, removing cap.) At once! {Watches Archie 
e^^it, R. 4 E., then repeats.) At once If Yes, sah. Yes, sah. {Laughs 
mockingly.) At once! {Starts off L.) 

Phil. Mose! 

Mose. {Stops.) Yes, sah. 

Phil. Hustle and get dinner ready. We’re as hungry as gov¬ 
ernment mules. Come, lift your boots. 

Mose. Yes, sah. {Starts.) 

Phil. Mose! 

Mose. {Stops.) Yes, sah. 

Phil. As soon as you get the dinner nicely started to cooking, 
go over to the village and get our mail. Now, don’t waste any time. 
Skip! 

Mose. {Starts L.) Yes, sah. 

Phil. And Mose! 

Mose. {Stops.) Yes, sah. 

Phil. If you get a package for me that looks like a box of 
merchandise— 

Mose. {Indicating' with hand.) Merchandise? 

Phil. Yes, merchandise—from Devereaux, Danby and Heller, 
you understand—hustle it here. I’m in desperate need of wearables. 

Mose. {Starts.) Yes, sah—“merchandise”—“devilish, damned-be- 
to-hell”—“wearables”—yes, sah. 

Phil. Mose! 

Mose. {Stopping, scratching head and speaking as if exasper¬ 
ated.) Yes, sah! 

Phil. Don’t forget to take good care of the ponies. We want 
them in first-class condition for a ride this afternoon. Now, step 
lively. 

Mose. Yes, sah. {Starts L. again and then stops as suddenly as 
before.) 

Phil. Well, what is it now? Why don’t you move? 

Mose. Am yo’ dead suah 3 '^o’ ain’t done forgit somefin’, boss? 

Phil. Clear out, you impertinent rascal! . {Exit Mose, L. 4 E., 
listening and grinning.) I declare! That chump gets worse and 
worse every day. I hardly know half the time whether he’s my 
servant—or I his. Come, Rob, why so glum? What’s up? 

Rob. I don’t know, PJiil. What did we bring that animal along 
with us for? ' 

Phil. {Surprised.) What animal? Mose? {Sits.) 

Rob. No, not Mose. He’s useful, at any rate. I was referring to 
to that empty-headed cub that iust left. 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


13 


Phil. Archie ? 

Rob. The same. 

Phil. Oh, he’s ornamental, doncheknow. {Imitates.) 

Rob. »Humph! 

Phil, And so entertaining, ’pon my word. {Imitates.) One 
never lacks for amusement when he’s around. 

Rob. But I don’t fancy that style of amusement, Phil. 

Phil. So? {Turns away from him, thinking and whistling, till a 
thought strikes him, then turns hack, speaking quizzically.) Not 
jealous are you, Bob? You know what Mrs. Browning tells us: 
“You smell a rose through a fence,— 

If two should smell it, what matter? 

Who grumbles? and where’s the pretense?” 

Rob. {At first indignant.) Jealous? {Then, after a pause, seri¬ 
ous.) Well, perhaps you are nearer right than you think. {Rises.) 
Old man. I’ve something to tell you. I, too, have seen that little 
girl up at the Wilder ranch—seen her more than dnce—and, Phil, 
I’m very much afraid that I’m in love with her myself. 

Phil. {Rises.) You? (Rob nods.) But you forget— 

Rob. {Interrupting.) No, I do not forget. I only wish I could. 
But I have spent six years of this sort of life, and—well, I am 
going to end it. 

Phil.' Rob, I begin to think you must be taking leave of your 
senses. Think of your wife— 

Rob. {Again interrupting.) My past wife, you mean. And why 
should I think of her? She is divorced—possibly dead. Surely my 
brief matrimonial career was not such a blissful one that I should 
spend the remainder of my life mourning over its untimely end, 

Phil. No, certainly not, but— 

Rob. {Interrupting hastily and sharply.) Have I not a lawful 
right ? 

Phil. Oh, certainly. Bob, you are free, but— {hesitates) 

Rob. Yes, free.’ Free as air. Free to pluck and wear this little 
prairie flower—and I will, too! It’s no boyish fancy, Phil. I’ve 
passed the calf stage, and I am too old and calloused to experience 
anything but the deep, overpowering love of maturity. You say 
Rose is wild. So she is. But love will tame her. And if I am not 
afraid to undertake it, surely you ought not to object. 

Phil. But it’s such a crazy idea. She is such a rough, wild, 
uncouth creature, a perfect specimen of the feminine product of 
this “Wild and Wooly West.” She wouldn’t stand transplanting to 
city life any more than these wild roses would bear being trans¬ 
ferred to the soil and atmosphere of a hothouse. Besides, although 


14 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


this part of the world is much like Kipling’s country, “Where there 
ain’t no ten commandments, an’ a man can raise a thirst,” the cow¬ 
boys around here set great store by their daring little comrade, 
and wouldn’t hesitate a moment to stretch your neck if you bore so 
much as a thought of harm toward their little “Prairie Rose.” 

Rob. Harm, man? (Advances toward Phil menacingly.) Don’t t 
tell you I mean to make her my wife? If you say one word against 
her— (Recollects himself and returns to position, R.) Can’t you 
see that she is as sweet and pure and true underneath that rude 
exterior as—as—as—your own Dorothy? 

Phil. (Crosses to Rob.) See here, old man. We’ve been‘com¬ 
rades, you and I, ever since we can either of us remember. Is this 
little prairie girl coming between us after all these years? (Rob 
docs not answer. Phil starts toward L, C. as if to leave him. 
Then reconsiders, and reads balance of speech as he comes hack 
to position by Rob.) Bob, think of the companionship of our 
college days; think of the scrapes you were eternally getting me 
out of; think of— 

Rob. (Suddenly facing him and interrupting him.) Yes, Phil, I 
do think of it all—all! I know, too, how your fashionable world 
would frown upon the friendship between the aristocratic Philip 
Bryant and this poor devil of a doctor. You’ve been the truest 
friend to me that a man could ever hope to have, and I’m afraid 
you’re fated to play Jonathan to my David all the rest of yeur 
life; but you see— 

Enter Silas, L. 1 E. 

Phil and Rob. (Together, raising hats.) Good morning, Mr. 
Wilder. (Phil makes grimace and crosses to L.) 

Silas. Hey? 

Rob. (Louder.) Good morning. 

Silas. Louder, please. (Phil laughs and exits L. 2 E.) 

Rob. (Still more loudly.) Good morning! (Lights cigar.) 

Silas. (Looks pusded, speaks confidentially, coming closer.) Say, 
I’m a leetle bit hard o’ hearing. Just try that again. (Rob laughs, 
holding out hand. Silas takes it heartily.) Yes, yes, don’t keer if 
I do, young feller, seein’ it’s you. Don’t keer if I do. 

Rob. Beautiful day, isn’t it? 

Silas (Uncertainly.) Y-e-s, I—guess—so. I’m a lookin’fer Rosie. 
Hain’t seen her, have ye? No? (Sits.) Ye see. Rosie, she’s my nephy. 
(Nods.) Yes—her dad’s my youngest brother, Ralph. Ralph an’ 
me, we was both darn fools, and had to go and git stuck on the 
same gal. Yes, we did, sir—the same gal. (Sighs.) But Ralph got 
her. (Pause—then sighs again.) Yes, Ralph got her. That’s why 
I hain’t never got hitched up. Well, she up and died when Rosie was 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


15 


horned, and Ralph, he went nigh erbout crazy, and cut up ter beat 
the very old Nick with all his imps throwed in. He wouldn’t never 
even look at the kid—no, sir. What do you think o’ that, now? Jest 
cut out the whole shootin’ match and skipped out. So I tuk her when 
she war a leetle teenty baby {indicates sise with hands), and brung 
her off out here and brung her up. Not much of a bringin’ up the 
poor gal’s got—eh. Doc? But I swan! I never thought much on 
it afore. {Lights pipe, puffing meditatively.) 

Rob. How old is she, Mr. Wilder? 

Silas. {Not hearing.) Ralph, he warn’t'a bit like me. He went 
in fer study and book lamin’, an’ all them air fol-de-rol notions. 
Powerful smart feller, Ralph war, if I do say it as shouldn’t, but 
nobody ain’t got a sign of an idee what’s come of him. No, sir; 
that’s a fac’. Hain’t heerd a blamed word since Rosie’s ma died. 

Rob. {Very loud.) How long ago was that, Mr. Wilder? 

Silas. {Not hearing.) I s’pose he’ll be turnin’ up one o’ these 
days, an’ I be afeared he won’t be so almighty tickled at the way 
the poor gal has growed up. Jest like a weed. Doc—jest like a 
weed. I s’pose she’s seemin’ ter you folks like a.tomboy of the 
blackest kind, but. Doc, the Lord knows that she’s jest as pure 
and innercent as she war the day I fust tuk her inter my arms, 
and I swar I alius done by her the best I knowed. Her dad shouldn’t 
oughter have deserted her. {Removes pipe each time he speaks — 
theyi resumes smoking.) 

Rob. {As before.) Have you lived here long, Mr. Wilder? 

Silas. {Still not hearing.) She looks jest like her ma uster when 
me an’ Ralph, went a-courtin’. He’ll be proud enuff of her, ’s fer’s 
looks goes. Wall, wall. Wonder why I keep a-thinkin’ so much 
erbout Ralph terday. {Draws sleeve across eyes.) ’Scuse me. Doc. 
I alius git so dumb babyish when I’m thinkin’ of Ralph and Rose. 
Guess I’d better move on. {Rises.) Blamed smoky ’round here, 
ain’t it? {Wiping eyes.) Come over ter the ranch whensomever 
yer take a notion. Latchstring’s, alius out. {Starts L.) 

Rob. Is your niece at home this afternoon? 

Silas. {As before.) We don’t see many strangers, and I’m 
a-thinkin’ that Rosie must get purty lonesome-like sometimes. Lizy 
jane Slocum, she keeps house fer us, but ’pears to me she hain’t 
no sort o’ company fer a young thing like Rose. 

Lizy Jane. {Off R.) Silas I Silas 

Silas. {Going L.) Jest look in on us any old time ye feel like 
it. We’ve all tuk a mighty shine ter you fellers. 

Lizy Jane, entering R. 4 E. 

Lizy. Silas ! Silas ! 

Silas. {Still facing L.) Prairie life’s all right—the only life in 


16 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


the hull world fer sech a tough old pill as I be—but mebbe a leetle 
gal like Rosie needs somethin’ different. Mebbe she do, Doc—mebbe 
she do. Confound that smoke! (Wipes eyes again.) But I jest 
tell yer, young feller, rowdy as ye may think her, thar ain’t a cow¬ 
boy fer miles around these here diggin’s as wouldn’t fight ter a 
finish fer “Prairie Rose.” 

Lizy. (Heading him off.) Silas! Silas! Silas, I say! 

Silas. Lizy Jane, you here? Wall, I swan! (Aside.) Might o’ 
knowed she’d a-come taggin’ me up, dodgast her! (Aloud.) I war 
jest a-goin’ over ter the' shack. 

Lizy. Ye was, was ye? Wall, I never b’lieve yer a-comin’ till ye 
open the door. 

Rob. Is your niece at home, Mr. Wilder? (Lizy calls Silas’ 
attention by an emphatic gesture of the head. Silas turns to Rob.) 

Silas. Hey? • 

Rob. Do you know where I could find Rose just now? 

Silas. (Bewildered. Steps closer, presenting ear.) Try it again, 
Doc. 

Rob. Is Rose at the shack? 

Silas. (Nods.) Going back? (Looks covertly at Lizy.) Yes, 
yes—I reckin I’d better be a-moseyin’ erlong that way. 

Rob. (Stepping closer.) No, no! Is Rose there? 

Silas. Yes, yes; mighty fresh air. Fine air. Best in the world, 
Doc, out here. An’ a-plenty of it—^yes, an’ a-plenty of it. 

Rob. You don’t understand. 

Silas. You jest bet it’s fine land. Land? Why, it’s all land—all 
land. " * 

Rob. But, Mr. Wilder, listen—where—is—your—niece? 

Silas. Quite a piece? Yes, it be quite a little jog, but I don’t 
mind it none. I’m perty blame spry fer sech an old codger. Perty 
blame spry. (Starts.) 

Rob. Well, a fellow certainly earns all the information he gets 
out of the poor old fellow, but—Mr. Wilder! 

Silas. Hey? 

Rob. Where is Rose? 

Silas. My clothes? Like ’em, do ye? (Pleased.) Wall, I swan. 
Ye’re the fust guy that ever tuk any shine ter my git-up. I don’t 
go much on style myself but I do think these here duds ain’t so 
wuss. Thank ye. Doc; thank ye. 

Lizy. (To Rqb who is about to make another desperate attempt.) 
Never mind him. Doc Raymond. Ye might a heap better save yer 
wind ter talk to that log. Nobody but us as is ust ter him ever 
make him catch any idee o’ what they’re a-drivin’ at. He don’t 
know what he says himself. Rosie be over ter the shack, seein’ 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


17 


yer wanter know so awful bad. I jest soon tell ye’s not! Come 
erlong, Silas. (Lizy grabs Silas and leads him off R. 4 E. Robert 
crosses up and looks after them before reading next speech.) 

Rob. Well, that woman certainly deserves to get the old man.. 
She works hard enough, and is forever at his heels. Poor old 
fellow! When he gets wound up he 'just has to run down, for an 
earthquake wouldn’t stop him. {Looks at watch.) It’s not very late. 
I believe I’ll just stroll along after them and see if I can find my 
little Rosebud. Dear little girl! Once place her in an atmosphere 
suited to her proper development, and she will mature into a 
woman that a king might as well be proud to make his wife. 
{Exit R. A E.) 


Mose enters hurriedly, L. 4. E. 

Mose. I say, boss! {Looks all around.) Jiminy guns! Whar hab 
de boss done tuk himself? Wall, dis chile ain’t in no/tic’lar sweat. 
Guess he jest sot down and rest hisself. Dis am a right smaht place 
fer a snooze if nobody am a-comin’ to ’sturb my relaxitudination. 
{Shot fired off R. a short time after he gets comfortably stretched 
out on stump. He screams and falls over in great fright.) O 
lawsy! I’s a dead coon, I is! (Rose laughs off R.) Yes, dat’s it! 
Laugh yer head off, if yo’ wants to. Yo’s done it all right! I’s a 

dead coon! _ r- 

Rose enters R, 2 E. 


Rose. A right smart shot that—eh. Bill? 

Mose. {Begging.) Deed, Missie, an’ I nebbah done no one no 
hahm! Do hab mussy on dis pore chile! I’s a good sort of a fellah, 

I is, if I is black! 

Rose. Why, colored man, what be the matter? Ye ben’t hurt, 
be yer? 

Mose. Hurt? I’se a dead coon suah nuff! {Eyes gun in terror.) 
Better run along, leetle gal, and leab me to die alone. (Rose sets 
gun up. Mose sits up, motioning it away, and dodging whenever 
she touches it.) 

Rose. But where be ye hurt? 

Mose. {Falls over again.) Whar? Shot through de heart, leetle 
gal—shot through de heart. O—o—o—o—h! {Groans.) 

Rose. O ye poor fellow! I’m awful sorry fer ye—honest I be. 
Show me whar it be. 

Mose. Whar? {Feels self all over, from head to foot, finally 
rising and looking sheepish.) ’Deed, Missie, and I—dunno. Ain’t 
I huht? Well, dat sartinly am amazin’. But please now, Missie 
Wose, don’t ye be a-doin’ any moah ob dat kind ob foolin’. I hain’t ' 
a hankerin’ arter de promised land jest yet, an’ I’s powerful 
skeered ob dem air contraptions. 


18 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


Rose. O go long! We was just a-shootin’ at a chicken—wan’t 
we, Bill? 


Bill enters R. 2 E. 


Bill. Sure thing, Mose. Trot along and peddle yer papers. We 
ain’t got no sort o’ designs on yer. 

Mose. (Bows profoundly.) .T’ank ye, chillens. I’s tickled nigh 
to deff, ’deed an’ I is. (Exits. Backs away L., with eye on Rose’s 
gun, C., where she has placed it against stump, and trips over 
Phil’s gun, which he has left resting on log, and pointing up stage. 
Comedy business ad lib. till exit L. 4 E.) 

Rose. (Sits.) Guess I’d better be a-loadin’ up if I ’spect to 
find any supper ’round here. 

Bill. (Throws himself at her feet, taking gun"from her.) Let 
me do it fer ye. Rose. Yer be gittin’ too all fired high-toned fer 
this kind o’ work. 

0 

Rose. Why, Bill, what be yer sayin’—high-toned? 

Bill. That’s what I remarked. Since these fine gentlemen from 
the city hev be’n out around these parts, ye’ve begun to primp up 
powerful. 

Rose. Why, Bill, I never! ' 

Bill. O yer needn’t bother ter deny it. ’Tain’t wuth while. 
But I jest be a-tellin’ yer, Rose, that even if yer ain’t got no time 
fer Bill any more, he’ll keep his eyes open, and if that air stuck-up 
doctor don’t be purty dog-goned keerful how he casts his sheep’s 
eves, he’ll be a-findin’ hisself ready fer a box afore he cal’lates to. 
That’s all. 

Rose. O cheese that racket. Bill! Yer givin’ me guff. Ain’t ye, 
now? Doc Raymond sartinly be a bully sort of a chap—an’ you 
know it, too—even if he do be a sportin’ store clothes an’ a biled 
shirt now an’ agin. 

Bill. Then let him show it, that’s all, an’ go ’way about his 
business, and leave our “Prairie Rose” alone. I know he be a 
mighty handsome swell, and— 

Rose. (Interrupting.) Now, jest you look here. Bill. You know I 
hain’t got no sort o’ hankerin’ arter purty fellers. They can’t never 
make no hit with me jest ’cause they be sort o’ hansome-like. 
Them kind be alius a-thinkin’ they be the hull blamed cheese, and 
be jest chuck full of conceitfulness. 

Bill. But I say yer do like this young cub of a doctor—now, 
don’t yer? 

Rose. (Bashfully.) That be a leetle different. Say, he is mighty 
fine lookin’, ain’t he. Bill? 

Bill. Too damn fine fer these parts. 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


19 


\ 


Rose. Anyway, he don’t say “damn” like you an’ Uncle Sile do. 
(Bill laughs sarcastically.) Well, he don’t. He knows how to use 
a gal respectively when he talks to her, and that’s a heap more’n 
some fellers ’round here can say fer ’emselves. So there now. 
(Bill sulks. Pause.) And say, Bill, his front name is “Robert”— 
did yer know it? And them chums o’ hissen call him “Bob.” 

Bill. Robber! {Laughs bitterly again.) His ma didn’t make no 
mistake namin’ him. Robber I 

Rose. ’Tain’t that at all,—it’s jest Rob. (Softly.) Rob. Awful 
purty name, ain’t it? 

Bill. O it suits his baby face all right, all right. Reg’lar little 
mama’s boy, that doctor. Sweet little Sunday School Johnnie. 
Wonder if he don’t lay awake nights worryin’ fer fear somebody’ll 
steal him. He and that dude together. (Laughs.) A fine pair of 
doll babies. Rose.. Yer Uncle Sile oughter buy ye one of ’em to 
play with. (Laughs.) O yer needn’t look so-all-fired cranky about 
it. He’s purty enough. I’m willin’ to ’low that much. He’ll look 
purtier in a box, though, with a glass winder over his mug. Fellers 
like him have be’n knowed ter pass in their checks rnighty sudden¬ 
like eround these here parts, too, and I’m jest the duck as can lick 
that putty-faced bloke till he won’t know hisself from a last year’s 
corspe. Savvy ? 

Rose. Rats, Bill. That’s all hot air. Cut it out. I don’t like yer 
a bit, <so, I don’t—not a confounded tarnal bit—when yer talkin’ 
that air way. Don’t yer want him to be decent ter me. Bill? Be 
that what’s rilin’ yer so? 

Bill. No, Rose, that hain’t it, and I’m blamed if I know what it 
is. But I don’t jest like the way I’ve seen him luk at yer some¬ 
times. I don’t want ter put any new notions inter yer purty little 
head, Rose—but hain’t I be’n yer beau ever since I lamed yer ter 
ride yer fust cayuse an’ fire yer fust gun? 

Rose. (Sits.) Beau? Why, Bill, yer be a great big silly, that’s 
all yer be. I ain’t wantin’ any beaux, and wouldn’t know what 
on airth to do with one if I had it. You’ve be’n a good chum ter 
me, Bill, an’ we’ve had some bully times, but don’t yer go be a 
goose, an’ spile the hull show, ’cause I jest won’t listen ter yer. 

Bill. No, I know. I ain’t so green as ye may be a-thinkin’. Yo’d 
a darn sight rather listen ter that bigbug of a doctor who comes 
from Lord knows where, and fills his purty mouth with mushy lies 
ter bait ye with. He only wants ter pick my prairie flower while 
it’s fresh and sweet, and throw it away when it withers in his 
hand. 

Rose. (Rises.) Stop, Bill, you— 


20 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


Archie enters L. U. E. 

Archie. “This beautiful sunshine is flooding all my soul with its 
love-inspiring rays”— (Reads on silently while walking across to 
R. entrance.) 

Bill. {To Rose.) Gee! Ain’t it purty? Watch me wake it up a 
leetle. {Fires pistol. Archie, badly frightened, pulls a ridiculous 
toy pistol and points it at Bill. Bill starts toward him, pointing 
pistol. Archie, trembling, drops his pistol. Bill picks, it up and 
examines it, very much amused.) Haw! haw! haw! Yer shouldn’t 
ought ter tote such a gun as that, sonny. Why, it might go off. 
It’s a right purty leetle thing, ain’t it, now? {Shows it to Rose. 
She nods and laughs.) It sure is. But look a-here, young feller, 
if you should ever shoot me with this—and I should happen ter 
find it out—I’d—why, lick yer like thunder, blamed if I wouldn’t. 
Now I’ve give ye fair warning. Move on, sonny. 

Archie. {Sees Rose and removes hat with lozv bow of admira¬ 
tion.) Aw—good morning—aw—Miss Wildah. (Rose nods, Archie 
exits R. U. E., reading notebook as before.) 

Rose. Miss Wilder. Jiminy! That be a powerful hifalutin’ name 
fer me, ain’t it. Bill? 

Bill. {Looking off after Archie.) Puppy! And they call that 
a man. 

Rose. O don’t look so cranky. Bill. I don’t think he’ll bite. Why, 
he says he’s the son of—of— {Hesitates, trying to think.) 

Bill, {Crosses down R.) Hell! I don’t know his dad, but if he’s 
got the habit of raisin’ things like that, and callin’ ’em “sons,” he’d 
better shuffle the cards for a n^w deal. {Sits by Rose.) But ’tain’t 
him I’m afeard of. Rose, I’ve alius thought ye’d be my wife some 
day. I never blabbed ter yer along that trail, ’cause yer ain’t be’n 
old enough fer them things, but I’ve be’n a-waitin’ and a-waitin’. 
Rose, I’ve loved yer ever sence yer war just a leetle tad, playin’ 
hide-an’-seek in the long grass, and as I’ve watched yer grow 
from childhood’s innercence ter a woman’s purity, that love has 
growed and growed and growed in my heart, till now there ain’t no 
room thar fer nothin’ else. Many’s the time I’ve heerd ye a-singin’ 
them songs over in the old shack, and I vow I’d rather hear ye 
a-singin’ them songs in my cabin than 4:er hear the angels in the 
court of heaven like the “Sky Pilot” tells erbout o’ Sundays. 
{Pause.) Rose, listen ter me. I want yer ter be my wife. 

Rose. O Bill! Why did yer go an’ do it? I’m sorry ye feel that 
way. Bill—honest, I be—fer—O don’t yer see it can’t never be? 

Bill. Can’t never be! And why? It’s because of the sweet lies 
of that city pill-peddler, and I’ll spoil his purty milk-face fer him. 
(Starts.) 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


21 


Rose. (Stops him.) Bill, don’t yer dare ter hurt him! 

Bill. There, leetle gal. I won’t hurt him—I won’t. I didn’t mean 
ter cause yer no pain. But Rose, I jest loves yer so that I can’t 
bear the thought of another feller’s gittin’ ye. (Pause.) I see my 
mistake now. (Crosses to L.) Ye don’t keer fer us wild, no-’count 
fellers any more, and we’ve gotter stand up an’ take our med’cine, 
same’s if we liked it. These fine birds from Sheecaygy hev turned 
yer head, and old cronies has to cuddle down on the back seat an’ 
look tickled to death. But it’s consarned tough. Rose—it’s con- 
sarned tough. (Exit hastily L. \'E. Rose starts to follow with both 
hands extended.) 

'Rose. Why, Bill, I didn’t— 

Mose enters hastily same entrance, with box which he places in 
her outstretched hands, much to her bewilderment. 

Mose. Heah it am, Missie Wose, heah it am. I declar dis am 
mighty lucky findin’ you heah. Dis chile expected he done had 
to trapse ’way ovah to dat air shack, an’ it be to wahm fo’ too 
much exercizations. 

Rose. But what in the name of Moses— 

Mose. Moses? Yes, mum, dat’s me. 

Rose. Well, what be this ye got here? 

Mose. Why, don’t yo’ done know ’bout dat? (She shakes head.) 
Now dat sartinly am strange. Yo’ see, Massa Feddahead— 

Rose. (Interrupting.) Feddahead? 

Mose. Yes, mum. Dat’s him—dat dude, yo’ know. 

Rose. (Laughs.) O yes; that dude. 

Mose. Wall, Missie, he done sent clar to de city— 

Rose. Shecaygy ?— 

Mose. And buyed dis box o’ woses. 

Rose. (Astounded.) Roses? Fer .me? (Mose nods.) Gosh all 
fishhooks! Fer mef 

Mose. (Frightened by her vehemence.) Dat’s sartinly what he 
done said. ^ 

Rose. Why, didn’t the durn fool know this place be jest chock 
full o’ roses? But it was sure awful kind o’ him ter think erbout 
it_awful kind. Be they in here, say? (Mose nods.) In this box? 
'(Laughs.) What a funny place for roses. We alius tie ’em up 
with a piece of cord an’ make bouquets of ’em. Jest ye tell him 
I’m tickled to death ter get ’em. Will ye? 

Mose. Yas, yas. I’ll tell him. (Aside.) She acts mighty tickled. 
I mus’ say. I’ll tell him what you say. Missis; ’deed an’ I will. J 
mus’ go hustle dis heah oddah mail to Massa Bryant now. He’s 


22 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


mighty anxious ’bout it. But I’ll tell de dude. (Aside at wings.) 
Tickled to deff, am she? Hum! Mighty libely co’pse. ^(Exit L.2E.) 

Rose. (Sits on stump, opens box, etc. Holds tip several pair of 
gaudy half hose.) Gosh! Did that guy think I could wear these? 
(Looks at her feet and then at the socks.) Gosh! 

Enter Rob, R. 4 E. She turns to face L. 

Rob. Good morning, Rose. (She slowly faces him and nods 
timidly. He extends hand and after some hesitation she places hers 
in it, the socks in her hand. Mutual embarrassment. She snatches 
them back, stuffs them in box and hides them behind stump at back 
of stage. He watches her with a smile till she has disposed of them, 
then speaks as though nothing had occurred.) I was just looking for 
you. 

Rose. (Looking back at him in surprise and speaking over 
shoulder.) Fer—me? 

Rob. Yes, fot you. (She walks slowly and bashfully back to 
him.) I have something to say to you. Sit down. (He sits on log, 
motioning for her to sit beside him.) 

Rose. (Points to seat.) Down there? 

Rob. Yes, why not? You’re not afraid of me, are you? 

Rose. Afraid? Of you? Gosh! See here, Doc Raymond, I ain’t 
none o’ yer city gals what jumps a mile if they sees a mouse, and 
runs like sixty-’leven from their own shadder. I jest tell ye right 
here and now that I ain’t never seen nothin’ ner nobody yet that 
I was ’feared of. (Sits.) 

Rob. I know you are a brave little girl. Rose, and I admire and 
honor you for it. 

Rose. O see that chicken. (Jumps up eagerly and aims off R.) 

Rob. By the way. Rose, have you lived on the prairie all your 
life? 

Rose. (Looks back over her shoulder in surprise.) All my life? 
Not yet. 

Rob. (Laughs.) Ha, ha, ha! That’s one on me. 

Rose. Well, fly! Fly, darn ye. (Turns back to face Rob.) Gosh! 
But I’d like to have got that bird. 

Rob. Sit down. Rose. 

Rose. (Looking off for another chicken.) Ain’t got time. (Then 
turns back.) Why, what ye want? 

Rob. Why, I—want to talk to you. 

Rose. Gosh! Talk. I ain’t much on the gab. (He winces at 
every slang word she uses.) What’s the matter. Doc? Don’t ye 
like shootin’? 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


23 


Rob. Ordinarily. 

Rose. (Aside — puzded.) “Or-di-nar-i-ly.” Humph! (Aloud.) 
'Tired? 

Rob. a little. (Rose jumps up, looking excitedly off R. again.) 

Rose. Be, eh? (Pause.) Say, ye git tired o’ things awful quick. 
Don’t ye, now? 

Rob. Why, I don’t know. Of some things, possibly. Do come 
and sit down, Rose. 

Rose. Can’t. I’m thirsty. (Goes to bucket.) Want a drink? 

Rob. Not just now, thank you. 

Rose. Too weak fer ye,^ mebbe. No sticks in it out here. Bill 
says you fellers likes sticks in yer drink. (Makes face.) Funny 
taste ye’ve got, ’pears ter me. I want my water clean—no dirt, ner 
straws, ner sticks, ner anything like that. (Drinks.) This is good 
enough fer me. (Drinks again, noisily.) Lickin’ good, Sal, on a 
hot day like this. (Drinks again.) Better have some. 

Rob. Well, Rose, if you insist—just a little. (Rises just as she 
starts to hand him dipper and spills it by knocking against him.) 

Rose. Wait. I’ll git some more. 

Rob. O never mind. (Walks to bucket.) Don’t take so much 
tcouble, just for me. 

Rose. O I jest soon’s not. Here. (Spills water over him, which 
he tries to brush off with handkerchief.) Now I gone an’ done it 
agam. All over your arm, too. 

Rob. O that’s nothing. Rose. You’re always pouring cold water 
on me, anyway. ^ 

Rose. (Astonished.) Pouring water on you? Why, I never— 
Gosh 1 It’s hot today. I’m all of a sweat. Is anything the matter 
with my rig? (Feels dress and looks self all over.) 

• Rob. Why, no. Why?- 

Rose. Stop yer darn gawpin’ at me, then. I don’t stand fer it. 

Rob. Pardon me, Rose. I didn’t mean to be rude. 

Rose. Rude? What’s that? You do beat all fer usin’ funny 
words. (Walks to wood.) Gosh! Wonder who hurt himself car- 
ryin’ up all that wood. (Rob is silent.) Looks like that feathery- 
head’s work. Gosh! He’s a two-fer-a-center. (Rob still silent.) 
Needs more water in that kettle. (Pours in some.) Gosh! ’Si)ose 
you fellers like livin’ out here like this, don’t ye? (No answer.) 
Say, who’s ^ the cook o’ this here concern, anyway? I wouldn’t 
hanker much fer havin’ that black man’s dirty fingers stickin’ in 
my vittles. Ugh! (No answer. She walks back toward him.) Say, 
Doc Raymond, you ain’t very doggoned sociable, ’pears ter me. 
What’s the rip? 


24 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


Rob. (Rousing from a reverie.) Pardon me again, Rose. I was— 
meditating. 

Rose. Med-i-ta-ting. Gosh! (Looking at him as if at a freak.) 

Rob. I mean thinking. 

Rose. Thinking? O that’s different. Too hot fer that, Doc. We 
don’t do anything like that out here in warm weather. It’s dan¬ 
gerous. But what was ye a-thinkin’ about so darned hard? Some— 
girl? (He nods. She shows displeasure.) Yer sister, mebbe? (He 
shakes head.) No? (Aside.) Humph I I bet she’s some stuck-up 
lallapaloozer. (Aloud.) Cousin? (He shakes head. Aside.) 
Durn her I (Aloud.) Well, what was ye a-thinkin’? 

Rob. I was thinking while I was looking at you. Rose—so young, 
so pure, so fresh and unsophisticated— 

Rose. ‘‘Un-so-phis-ti-ca-ted 1 ”— 

Rob. That while life as a rule is a desperately hard proposition, 
it may possibly still have its alleviations. (Turns, strolls off L. to 
light cigar.) 

Rose. Alleviations? What’s them? Al-lev-i-ations 1 He must be 
a-goin’ to leave. (Looks after him anxiously.) Gosh I But he’s 
purty and smart. A sure ’nough swell—an’ that’s no dream. Wish 
I was his sister—or his—his—cousin, or—well, some relation to 
him, anyway. That gal he was a-thinkin’ about, f’rinstance. Alle¬ 
viations ! Whatever that means. He said he had ’em, or could git 
em, or—or—somethin’ like that. Wonder what they look like. 
(Looks off L.) Gosh! He’s terrible skeer’d o’ me a-seein’ him 
smoke that air segaretty. Uncle Sile an’ Bill an’ the rest o’ the 
bunch ain’t so darned squeamish with their corncob pipes. I b’lieve 
I do kind o’ like him just a leetle teeny bit. But I would never let 
Bill get next to that—not by a jugful. 

Mose enters L. 4 E. in haste. 

Mose. O say, Missie Wose, whar am dat ar box? Massa nigh 
about kilt dis heah chile fo’ bringin’ his—his—socks to yo’. 

Rose. Should o’ finished the job while he was at it. I’ll take a 
hand in it myself if ever 3^011 dare try such a dirty trick on me agin. 
I ain’t so dead easy as I may be a-lookin’. 

Mose. Fo’ de Lawd, Missie dis heah chile didn’t mean to do it. 
What yo’ done t’inks ob dis chile, anyway to ’cuse him ob doin’ a 
t’ing like dat o’puppose like? To offer a lady woses an’ bring her 
hoses! Holy Moses! (Laughs.) Don’t ye be a-gittin’ so mad, 
Missie. Dis coon couldn’t help laughin’ if yo’ don’ kilt him entirely. 

Rose. (Hands him box.) Well, here they be. I ain’t no use fer 
’em. Tell your boss they be too purty fer me, an’ he’s welcome 
to ’em. 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


25 


Enter Lizy, R. 4 E., all out of brealh. 

Rose. Why, what’s up with you, Lizy Jane? 

Lizy. O—o—o—o! I’m all out of breath, Rosie! 

Mose. She means de breaf’s all out ob her. 

Lizy. I saw a man over thar—yes, sir, a man—right over there— 
and O how I did run! 

Mose. Wonder if she done caught him? 

Lizy. O I’m so scairt I (Exits opposite side from entrance, calls 
off.) Silas! 

Rose. Say, Mose, what be “alleviations?” Do ye know? 

Mose. Alliebiations ? Why, in course I knows. What yo’ done 
take me fo’? 

Rose. Tell me 

Mose. Why, allebiations—allebiations am— (scratches head) —al¬ 
liebiations—why, alliebiations aiP—am—why, don’t yo’ know, Missie 
Wose? (She shakes head.) Massy! Don’t know what alliebiations 
am !” Why, dis chile t’ought ebrybody—ebrybody ebrywhar knew 
dat. , 

Rose. Well, what do they mean, Mose? I want to know. 

Mose. Yes, yes; ain’t I done tellin’ yo’? Alliebiations am—am— 
why—O yes, I’s rememberin’ now. Alliebiations am—am—say, Mis¬ 
sie Wose, I’s jest done got to take dis heah box to Massa Bryant 
or he’ll—he’ll— 

Rose. (Heads him off.) Not till ye tell me, Mose. i 

Mose. I golly gracious! (Aside.) Dis coon am up against it 
proper dis heah trip—he surely am. (Aloud.) Now, please, Missie 
Wose, doan’ yo’ be a-firin’ any moah ob dem big jaw-breakers in 
dis heah d’rection. Dis coon ain’t used to dat, nohow, an’ he am 
dreadful scairt ob dem air contraptions. 

Rose. (Picks up gun.) Tell me! 

Mose. Yes, yes, Missie Wose. Why, I was done gwine tell yo’ 
all de time. Put down dat t’ing, Missie—put it down—do! I’s pow¬ 
erful feard it’ll kick. (She points it at him.) Yes—yes—alliebia¬ 
tions am—am—why, say, alliebiations am alliebiations. Dar now! 
(Runs off in fright L. 4 E.) 

Rose. Allieviations are allieviations. Um—hum! (Walks down 
front, looks off L.) Gosh! But Doc looks glum. Stands there jest 
like a stick or a stone, or—somethin’ like that—thinkin’ about that 
gal. Blast her pitcher! (Starts R.) 

Rob. (Steps in carelessly L.) Come back. Rose. Don’t run away 
from me. 

Rose. (Turns hack.) Hully gee! Call that runnin’? Say, ye jest 
orter see me run. There ain’t no flies on me when I get a-goin’ 


26 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


some. Bet a dollar and a quarter ’gainst a plugged cent I can beat 
ye to' that stump over there. 

Rob. I don’t doubt it, Rose. (Sits.) Come and sit down. 

Rose. Afraid to try, ain’t you? 

Rob. Not exactly—but— 

Rose. O don’t be a chump. Come on. 

Rob. I don’t feel like it today. 

Rose. Off yer feed? 

Rob. No, but— 

Rose. (Impatiently.) What you got on yer mind? (Aside.) 
That gal? 

Rob. I was thinking that our vacation was nearly at an end, and 
that we’d soon forget all the pleasures of this do-nothing exist¬ 
ence, and find ourselves back in the midst of things again. (Rose 
turns away.) By the way. Rose, how would you like to go to the 
city? 

Rose. O gosh! I’ve be’n ter the city. (Sits.) 

Rob. (In surprise.) You have? 

Rose. Um—hum! Why, I’ve be’n over to Frog Center four times 
a’ready, an’ onct—about a year or two agone—me’n Bill rode over 
ter Ratsville, barebacked, an’ racin’, you bet, ter see the sarkis. 
Gee! But we had a rippin’ fine time. 

Rob. Y-e-s? But what would you think of living in a city all 
the time? Not Frog Center, nor Ratsville, nor any such place, but 
a great big city—like Chicago, where I live, for instance? 

Rose. Bigger’n Pawnee Rock? 

Rob. O yes; very much larger. 

Rose. (Looks at him wonderingly.) Gosh! 

Rob. Don’t say “Gosh!” Rose, please don’t. 

Rose. Why not? “Gosh” ain’t swearin’, be it? 

Rob. No, but I can’t bear to hear such expressions from such 
pretty lips as yours, Rose. It isn’t—quite—well, it’s not exactly lady¬ 
like, you know. 

, Rose. Lady-like. I ain’t a lady. Doc Raymond. Don’t yer ever 
git such a bee in yer bonnet as that. How the fellers would snicker 
an’ snort if they heard ye slingin’ that guff my way. I’m jest plain 
Rose—“Prairie Rose,” the most of ’em call me—and an out-an’-out 
“Jimmy Tough” from my head to my heels. Bill says I’m the 
grittiest little devil that ever swung a rope at a round-up, and ain’t 
it the truth? Gosh! I ain’t got no hankerin’ for bein’ a lady. I’-ve 
seen one or two o’ that bunch— (imitates stylish swing) —an’ not 
any o’ that in mine. No, sir. Me fer the round-up, Doc—every 
time. I’m a cow-girl—see? 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


^ 27 


Rob. And altogether adorable just as you are, Rose, Pm sure, 
only— 

Rose. (Sits beside him.) But I won’t say “Gosh” any more if 
yer don’t like ter hear it, an’ if I can keep it all in my membery. 
I ain’t had no notion as it war a bad word—I know lots that’s a 
darn sight worse—and I didn’t mean ter shock yer modesty, Doc— 
honest Injun, I didn’t. 

Rob, Of course you didn’t. Rose. I knew that. But you haven’t 
answered my question yet, and told me how you’d like to live in 
Chicago. 

Rose. That would be a regular sarkis all the time, wouldn’t it? 

Rob. (Suppressing a smile.) Something like it, I presume, for 
you. 

Rose. O I’d like it, you bet. But why? Has Uncle Sile been 
a-sayin’ anything ter you about movin’? 

Rob. No, no! This doesn’t materially concern your Uncle Silas, 
Rose. (Pause, pui^sled how to proceed.) Tell me, Rose, were you 
ever in love? 

Rose. In love? (Shakes head slowly.) I don’t know nothin’ about 
that disease, Doc Raymond. I’ve had the weasels and the bumps, 
and the chicken-coop—no, the chicken—chicken box—that’s it—ever 
had them, Doc? (He nods, smiling.) But we ain’t never had a case 
of love around here, as I ever heard of, so I ain’t never be’n 
exposed. But Lizy Jane, she told me onct as how it was mighty 
bad, an’ apt to go purty^ hard with a feller if it onct struck in on 
him. 

Rob. Lizy Jane, you say? (Rose nods.) Well, I rather think she 
ought to know. 

Rose. I s’pose she do. She be old enough, that’s a cinch. Be it 
dangerous ? 

Rob. Yes, Rose, it generally turns out to be—affects a fellow’s 
heart, you know, and is likely to turn his brain. 

Rose. And catchin’? (Edges away from him.) 

Rob. Sometimes. 

Rose. (Nervously.) Say, Doc, I don’t b’lieve I be a feelin’ fust- 
rate. Look at my tongue. Be I gittin’ it? (Sticks out tongue for 
inspection.) 

Rob. I don’t see any signs of it there, Rose. Let me feel your 
pulse. I can tell better by that. 

Rose. (Looks down at dress and all over.) My —what? 

Rob. Your hand, your wrist, 3^011 know. (Feels pulse critically, 
Rose watching him anxiously.) No, I’m afraid you have none of 
the symptoms. Rose. 



28 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


Rose. (Snatching hand from him.) Let go my hand! (Looks it 
over critically.) Symptoms—what be them? 

Rob. Why, the signs of it, I mean. But say, Rose, did you ever 
like anyone very much? 

Rose. Why, of course I have. I like Uncle Sile an’ Lizy Jane, 
an’ Bill— 

Rob. (Interrupting jealously.) Bill? Who’s Bill? Bill who? 

Rose. O he’s just plain Bill. His t’other name is Sprigs or Whigs 
or Jigs, or—or—something like that. I ain’t just sartin, and I don’t 
b’lieve he is, fer he never hears it. Anyway, he’s jest a perfect 
gentleman—an’ so good to his ma. 

Rob. And you like him, do you? 

Rose. Bet yer neck. 

Rob. Happy Bill! Couldn’t you like me just a little. Rose? (Moves 
nearer to her.) 

Rose. You? Shouldn’t wonder if I could if I tried very awful 
hard. Ain’t ye got enough room. Doctor Raymond? P’ears like 
it's gettin’ mighty crowded here. (He moves away.) But say. Doc, 
ye ain’t told me yet what this love is ye was talkin’ about. 

Rob. I don’t know as I can. Rose, so you would understand. 
Shakespeare says— 

Rose. Jake Who? 

Rob. Shakespeare—the great Shakespeare, you know. 

Rose. (Trying to think.) No, I dunno. I ust ter know Joe 
Spear over on the Bar-X Ranch, but I hain’t never heard of Jake 
Spear afore. Wonder if they be any connection? Do he live around 
these diggings anywhere? 

Rob. No, no. Rose! (Aside.) How can I tell her? (Aloud.) 

You see. Rose, when two people, like you and me, for instance, like 
one another very much—better than anybody else, you know—and 
feel that,they belong just to each other—that is love. 

Rose. Oh !!!—Say, it must be kind o’ nice. 

Rob. Indeed it is. Rose. And just think little girl. (He takes 
her hand. She tries to drazv it from him and turns her head, but 
he does not release hand.) No, don’t turn your head—look at me— 
that’s the way I love you—with all my heart! 

Rose. (Jumps up, crosses to R.) O come off. You’re jest tryin’ ^ 
to string me. 

' Rob. (Rises.) No, indeed. Rose! I was never more earnest in j 
my life. Won’t you try to learn to love me? (Makes move as if I 
to embrace her. She eludes him and crosses to extreme L. corner ' 
Rob. R. C.) ' ] 

Rose. Now see here. Don’t ye come over here. 

Rob. (Amazed.) Why, Rose, what’s the matter? Doesn’t my love ; 




A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


29 


give me any privileges? Won’t you give me just one little kiss? 
(Starts toward her.) 

Rose. (Motioning him hack.) Quit yer foolin’, Doc Raymond. 
(Crosses to him and holds position C. to end of act.) I know I’m 
tarnal green an’ all that. I don’t know nothin’ about the nice way 
to do things an’ that fol-de-rol. I ain’t a lady like yer be ust ter, 
ye know, and I sure must cut up lots o’ outlandish capers. But I 
jest want ter tell ye one thing—and ye can put it into yer pipe an’ 
smoke it from now till doomsday. “Prairie Rose” ain’t so many, 
but she jest knows mighty well how to take keer o’ herself, an’ don’t 
ye fergit that she don’t stand fer any crooked ..business around this 
ranch! 

Rob. Crooked business. Rose! I don’t understand you. I only 
mean by you what is perfectly right and true. Just let me— (He 
starts to put arm around her. She pushes him back with one hand.) 

Rose. Not by a jugful. See? 

Rob. But one kiss. Rose— 

Rose. Come on and take it, then. (She snatches pistol from belt 
and covers him. He throws out hands in defense. Hold position 
for—) 

QUICK CURTAIN. 


ACT II. 

Two weeks later. Scene, '"Best Room” of the Wilder shack. Old- 
fashioned furniture, pictures, tidies, etc. Long table in center of 
room with heavy spread. Doors R., L. and L. C. in flat. Stage set 
as per diagram. 

Archie is discovered, lying on couch, reading notebook. 

Archie. “This beautiful sunshine is flooding all my soul with its 
love-inspiring rays.” (Pause, reading silently.) “I cannot—no, I 
will not—live without you”—“I cannot—no, I will not* live without 
you”—“I cannot—no, I will not live without you”—“Will you be 
mine?” Um—urn—urn—“Will you be mine?” ’Pon my word! I 
must be getting this learned soon, or I’ll lose my chance; I will, 
indeed. 

Lizy. (Off R.) Rose! Rose! Where be ye, Rose? 

Rose. (Off L.) Here I be, Lizy Jane. D’ye want me? (Archie 
hears her voice and sits up.) 

Lizy. (Still off R.) No, I jest wanted ter know whar yer Uncle 
' Silas have gone to. D’ye know? 




30 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


Rose. I think he be out ter the barn, Lizy Jane. 

Lizy. All right. Eli jest go erlong out an’ see. 

Rose enters L. 

Rose. She’ll find him all right if he be on the ranch. She’s got 
it wusser’n I have, I’m thinkin’. Why, Mr. Featherhead, be you 
here ? 

Archie. (Rises and bows low, with hand on heart.') Ya-a-s, 
weally, Miss—ah—Miss—Wildah, I believe I must be, doncherknow. 
(Studies book slyly. Rose has large cloth with which she proceeds 
to dust the room. Archie views her actions with alarm, blowing 
the dust away from him, brushing his clothes frequently and walking 
from one part of the room to another, trying to steer clear when¬ 
ever she is near him. Rose frequently shakes duster violently, at 
which he displays great fright.) 

Rose. (Busily dusting chair.) Where be all the other men? 

Archie. (Comes up behind her.) “This beautiful sunshine is 
flooding all my soul with its love-inspiring rays.” (Rose turns and 
looks at him innocently and he begins to shake and show great 
fright.) 

Rose. (Returning to dusting.) It be a purty day, ain’t it? But 
awful hot, don’t ye think? 

Archie. (Plucking up courage again.) “Beautiful maiden—” 

Rose. (Straightening up and looking at him again.) What be ye 
saying, Mr. Featherhead? 

Archie. (Frightened.) O n—n—nothing! (Aside.) Blast it all! 
It doesn’t seem to work with her worth a cent. It doesn’t, indeed. 

Rose. (Dusts table while he consults notebook.) Do you like ter 
live in the city, Mr. Featherhead? Be it fun? 

Archie. Fun? Well, ’pon my honor, I don’t know, doncherknow. 
S’pose it is—yas, awfully. (Looks around for clean corner, hnally 
selects a chair which Rose has just dusted. He blows on it furi¬ 
ously, then tides his finger on it, finally spreading his white handker¬ 
chief on it and seating himself very carefully upon it. reading note¬ 
book very slyly.) “I cannot—no, I will not, live without you!” Ah, 
that’s it, doncherknow? 

Rose. No, I dunno. (Aside.) Gosh! Ain’t he the limit? (Aloud.) 
What be the matter, Mr. Featherhead? Be ye sick? 

Archie. (Rises in protest, frightened because she looks at him.) 
No, er—that is, I guess not, doncherknow. (Aside.) I do wish she’d 
listen. ’Pon my word I do. 

Rose. (Pounding rocker cushion vigorously.) ’Tain’t good 
weather fer sick folks. Better take some catnip tea or boneset. 
(Archie gasps and makes wry face.) That’s powerful good fer ye 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


31 


if ye ain’t a-feelin’ fust rate. Uncle Slle jest dotes on it. Maybe 
ye’d better soak yer feet in hot water, and put a mustard plaster 
on yer back. I wouldn’t take any chance at bein’ laid up so far 
away from Ma if I was you. {Throws cushion to sofa. Archie 
dodges, brushes clothes, etc.) There, now! Lizy Jane told me to 
watch her bread, an’ I was forgittin’ all about it. I’ll bet a cooky 
it’s burnt as black as Uncle Sile’s boots. {Exit L.) 

Archie. There I She’s gone, and I didn’t get to the point after all. , 
By Jove! I must get it all out some way. I must, indeed. {Looks 
L.) Ah I She’s coming back. Now I’ll just fall to my knees and 
say, “Will you be mine?” without all that preliminary. She’ll surely 
understand that. {Turns to face R., whistling some popular love 
tune, as) — 

Lizy enters L. Then quickly turns about and kneels to her. 

Archie. Will you be mine? {Suddenly recognizes his mistake.) 

O Lordy 1 

Lizy {Shaking him.) You everlasting impudent critter! (Archie 
scrambles to his feet and Lizy faints on him.) i 

Mose enters L. C. and sees Archie embracing her. Laughs. 

Mose. ’Scuse me, Massa Feddahhead. I didn’t mean to ’sturb 
your relaxitudinations. {Exits L. C., laughing.) 

Archie. {Calls.) Mose! (Lizy comes to again and gasps for 
breath, but still keeps arm around Archie’s neck, in spite of his 
struggles to escape.) 

Lizy. O my heart! That was so sudden, Mr. Featherhead! Did 
I ever encourage you? 

Archie. O Lordy! No! You never did. Miss Slocum,.’pon my 
word you didn’t. 

Lizy. Wall, ye ain’t more’n half a man, but “a bird in the hand 
is worthnwo ye ain’t caught,” they say, and I b’lieve I’ll say “yes” 
now that I come to think it ov^r. 

Archie. O weally, now, beg pahdon, doncherknow, but I— 

Silas enters R. 

Silas. Hey? {Takes in the situation and is greatly amused, 
laughing dumbly. They do not see him.) 

Lizy. Never mind, dearie, don’t you worry any more about it. 
It’s all right. Come on. {Exits R., leading a reluctant Archie.) 

Silas. {Watching them off.) Wall! Wall! Blamed if I ain’t goin’ 
ter git some rest—yes, sir, yes. I ain’t so all-fired blind, if I do 
be a leetle bit hard o’ bearin’. Well, the kid has my commission to 
take her right along—if he jest takes her fer enough. That’s all. 
{Looks off again.) Ha, ha, ha! That’s a good one! A sort o’ spring 
fever, I reckin, fer all hands and the cook seems to have got a tech 




32 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


of it lately. Rose and that air pill peddler have got it purty darn 

bad, and it looks ’sif- it had struck in on Bill mighty fierce, too; 

and now I’ll blasted an’ blowed sky high if Lizy Jane and that 
walkin’ image ain’t breakin’ out in a new spot. Wonder who’ll be 
next to ketch it? Hope the old man ain’t in fer a spell of it. And I 

ain’t so all-fired worried for fear he is. (Sits L., shaking head 

sadly.) No, no, no! One sech attack as I had is enough to last a 
feller fer a lifetime—an’ then some. Yes, sir—an’ then some. 

Rose enters R. 

Rose. O here ye be. Uncle Sile. (Stands back of him.) . 

Silas. (Doesn’t look up.) Wall, Rosie. (She doesn’t speak, but 
smooths his hair tenderly. After a pause he looks up to see if she 
is speaking.) Wall? (Still she is silent—they look at one another.) 
What is the matter, little one? 

(Soft Music.) 

Rose. Be ye sorry the doctor ’n me be so happy. Uncle Sile? 
(He drops head in hands.) O ye mustn’t be a-feelin’ so bad an’ 
lonesome-like, ’cause I’ll never in the world fergit you. But—Uncle 
Sile. (He looks up. She kneels beside him. He throws arm around 
her.) I’m half afraid to git married and be a real sure ’nough 
woman. I be just a leetle gal, Uncle Sile, and I don’t know a bit 
about what it all means. I’m most scairt to pieces every time I git 
to thinkin’ about it. Uncle Sile, why hain’t I never had a ma to 
tell me what I orter know same’s other gals? 

Silas. Rosie. (Points up.) He knows why. We don’t—neither 
me ner you, and never will; but He does. (She bows head and he 
smooths her hair while continuing.) Ye’ve be’n a good gal, Rosie, 
an’ He’ll take keer o’ ye all right. This is a strange, topsy-turvy, 
out-of-joint an’ bottom-side-up kind of a world; but the Lord sartin 
did have a hand in makin’ some of the people in it. And you’re one 
on ’em, Rosie—^you’re one on ’em. And so of course He’ll look arter 
ye, an’ make ye happy with this young feller that’s all on a sudden 
made ye fergit even yer old Uncle’s love. (Rose looks up to pro¬ 
test.) No, don’t say a word, Rosie—’tain’t no sort o’ use—an’ I 
likely couldn’t hear ye if ye did, ye know, fer this one ear o’ mine 
seems a leetle out o’ kilter lately—yes, a leetle out o’ kilter. (She 
drops head on his knee.) O come now. Don’t yer be a-feelin’ 
down-in-the-mouth about me, noways. It’s human nater, child— 
just pure human nater—an’ makes gals fergit fathers, mothers and 
brothers and sisters purty awful onexpected when it takes hold on 
’em. (Raises her head.) Come, yer sure ye love this Doc Raymond, 
ain’t ye, Rosie? 

Rose. Love him? (Rises.) Why, I—think that must be what’s 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


33 


ailin’ me. He says when two folkses—like him and me, you know— 
like each other jest awful hard, an’ feel ’sif they sort o’ b’longed 
ter each other, an’ ter nobody else, ye see—why, they be in love. 
W ell. Uncle Sile, I reckon that’s the way it be with me ’n him. 
And O! everythin’s so different, somehow—an’ the world be so 
purty! 

Silas. (Rises.) And the hull prairie be flooded with the glory 
o’ heaven an’ the mercies of the great God—eh?—an’ with angels 
an’ great lights an’ rejoicin’? (Lays hand on head.) Rose, yer old 
uncle never had the good luck to enjoy it all that air way, fer all 
his life he’s had a hungerin’ an’ a thirstin’ fer what he wa’n’t fer 
some reason never ter taste. But he ain’t so nigh the bone-yard 
yet that he can’t picter to himself what it might o’ be’n like if he’d 
got hold o’ the right end o’ the string, an’ he’s powerful thankful 
ter his Maker that his leetle gal’s found it. Cheer up, Rosie. I ain’t 
a-kickin’. (Starts to L. C., pulling handkerchief from pocket. 
Turns back at entrance.) No, Rosie, I ain’t a-kickin’. (Bursts out 
crying and exits hastily, L. C. Rose follows to entrance, looking 
after him, then turns back slowly.) 

Rose. Poor Uncle Sile! He makes me feel—O, I dunno! I jest 
wish—O I wish that Dr. Rob would marry him, too! But I must 
take my joggofy and try and read all about Sliecaygy if I can spell 
but the big words, fer Dr. Rob says we be a-goin’ ter live there 
all our lives. It mu_st be quite a piece from here. I s’pose we’ll 
likely have ter go on the keers. Gee! (Sits.) I don’t know what’s 
come over me sence Rob’s come. Gosh !—er, I mean massy me— 
I jest must cut out them bad words, darn it all. I uster be a terror 
to rattlers, and now I jest don’t seem to keer about doin’ a doggone 
thing only jest ter please him! Dear me! I can’t fer the life o’ me 
see why he didn’t marry some fine city lady who was bootiful an’ 
eddicated like they be in them stories in that paper Bill lets me read 
sometimes, ’stead o’ coinin’ way off out here to the jumpin-off 
place and pickin’ up sech a good-fer-nothin’ stick-in-the-mud as me! 
But he says I be purty (giggles), and that honest Injun, cross his 
heart, hope to die, he likes me better’n all the swelled-up bugs off 
there, an’ I’m goin’ ter be his wife, an’ jest learn everything there 
is ter know, an’ live in that big city he’s be’n a-tellin’ me so much 
about. 

Enter Rob, L. C. 

Rose. I jest can’t somehow b’lieve it. 

Rob. (Goes R., putting up gun,, etc.) What can’t you believe, 
Rosebud ? 

Rose. (Jumps up hastily and looks down bashfully.) O that I’m 
goin’ ter the city with you. 


34 


A PRAIRjE ROSE. 


Ron. {Walking towards her.) But aren't you glad to go? You 
want to be my little wife, don’t you, Rosie? 

Rose. Bet yer life! I’m tickled ter death about it. But it all 
seems mighty strange to me yet, Doc. 

Rob. (Pauses L. of table.) Haven’t you forgotten something, 
Rosebud ? ^ 

Rose. (Looks dress all over, feet, etc., feels hair and back of 
dress, looking frightened.) Forgot—what? (He holds out arms 
invitingly.) O I didn’t forgit that! I jest didn’t— (goes slowly to 
him.) ' 

Rob. (Kissing her.) Didn’t what, dear? 

Rose. Didn’t dast 

Rob. Didn’t dare, Rose? Who was it said to me about two weeks 
ago, “I’ve never seen anything nor anybody yet that I was afraid 
of?” Do you remember? 

Rose. O yes, I remember. But it’s different now. 

Rob. Different indeed. (Crosses to sofa and sits.) I was the 
coward then. You were a thorny Rose, little girl—don’t you know 
it? But you’re mine now, aren’t you? And only think—in just a 
month you’ll be Mrs. Robert Raymond. 

Rose. Mrs.—Robert—Raymond! Gosh—er—massy me! I don’t 
remember wuth a darn—I mean a cent—do I ? But that be an all- 
fired tony name. Doc. I’ll bet “Prairie Rose” won’t know herself 
when she gets to carryin’ that load o’ dog around. 

Rob. It is at least an honorable name, Rosebud. Think again. 
Mrs.—Robert—Raymond ! 

Rose. Gosh! (Catches herself, puts hand over mouth.) I didn’t 
mean to, Rob. Honest Injun, I didn’t. Don’t scold me. 

Rob. Scold you? O Rose! I don’t believe you half realize yet 
how kind I’m going to be to you. Let this kiss tell you how dear 
you are to me. (Kisses her.) Did you understand it? 

Rose. (Archly.) I ain’t jest sure I did. Don’t you think you’d 
better say it again, Doc? (Runs around table, he following, catch¬ 
ing her behind table, stands back of het, hand on shoulder. She 
looks up mischievously.) Say, Doc. 

Rob. Have you forgotten my name. Rose? 

Rose. Eh — eh! Only, you see, you’re so big and smart, and 
know so much, and I’m so little and no-’count, and don’t Icnow 
nothin’—it doesn’t jest seem’s if I’d orter be so familiar. But I 
hain’t fergit. (Pause.) Say, Rob. 

Rob. Well, what were you going to say? 

Rose. O nothing. (He looks at her with significant smile.) Well, 
nothin’ much. 

Rob. Come, Rose, out with it. You aren’t afraid, you know. 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


35 


Rose. I jest think you’ve got the purtiest eyes. (Runs from him, 
he following.) There, now ! 

Rob. (Throws arms around her, compelling her to look up.) 
That was only your own reflection in them, Rosebud. 

Enter Silas^ L. C. 

Silas. O ye be in here, be ye? Spoonin’? (They separate, Rose 
R., Rob L. Silas laughs.) O don’t git scairt. I didn’t see nothin’. 

Rose. (Runs to Silas, C., hiding face in his breast.) O Uncle 
Sile, I be so happy! 

Silas. (Winks.) Say, Doc, thar ain’t nothin’ serious the matter 
with Rose, be thar? (She tries to get away, but he holds her close.) 
Ye don’t cal’late she’s a-goin’ ter have a sick spell, do ye? (Rob 
shakes his head, puzsled.) I didn’t know. I see ye feelin’ her pulse 
so anxious-like. (Rose pinches his cheek and runs off C.) An’ so 
ye be about ter marry my leetle Rosie, Doc? If I didn’t b’lieve ye 
ter be a right square feller. I’d never let ye have her, hanged if I 
would. (Rob sits L., close to him.) Howsomever, when a gal gits 

herself so sot on a feller as she be on you, it ain’t no sort o’ use 

fer any of us old birds to be a’stickin’ our nibs in. Not that I’ve 
got a sign of a thing agin it. Doc, for I know the hand she’s 
a-holdin’ out to ye’s got her leetle heart inside it. (Sits R.) But, 
Doc, I be a-goin’ to miss her powerful. I ain’t fit ter fix it up like 
it orter be. The poor gal needs her own dad now wuss’n ever afore. 
•Ye must take good keer o’ her. She be jest a leetle gal, and I jest 
can’t make my tarnal old eyes see that she be growd up. Ye will 
take good keer of her, won’t yer? (Repeats last speech pleadingly, 
crossing to C. Rob rises and comes to him to read next speech.) 

Rob. (Standing very close and speaking loudly and distinctly.) I’ll 
do my best, Mr. Wilder, and I hope the great God may deal by me 

as I deal by her. You know I’m not a rich man— 

Silas. (Interrupting.) Stop right where ye be. Doc Raymond! 
We fellows who live out here in the West be a rough class o’ people, 
but we do git ruther close to the heart o’ the Almighty sometimes, 
and have a way o’ lookin’ beyond sech fandangoes as money an’ 
style an’ sech. We don’t keer a red what a man’s got on the outside 
o’ his carcass, but we do look purty gol-durned close to what he’s 
got inside. I’ve sized ye up, Doc, when ye wa’n’t a-thinkin’, an’ it 
be all right. Yes, it be all right. Doc. Give me yer paw. '(They 
shake hands.) 

Rob. Thank you. Uncle Silas. Thank you I 

Lizy. (Off R.) Silas! Silas! 

Rob. There, Uncle Silas, Lizy Jane’s calling you. 

Silas. (Sinks to sofa in distraction.) Good land o’ Goshen! 


36 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


That female woman would try the patience of a dozen Jobs and all 
their wives! 

Lizy enters R. 

Lizy. O Silas, be ye here? 

Rob. Wonder where Rose ran to. (Goes to curtain and looks out 
silently. Then walks hack to table and picks up geography, looking 
at it and turning the leaves in amusement.) I guess I’ll take her 
book to her—poor little girl—and perhaps I’ll get an opportunity to 
play teacher at some other game than that of love. (Exits L. C. 
with hook.) 

Silas. Some and sit down, Lizy Jane. I’ve got something ter say 
ter ye. • 

Lizy. (Sits.) Wall! (Pauses. No reply.) I be a listenin’. 

Silas. Hey? 

Lizy. What war ye a-goin’ ter say ter me? 

SiLAS/ (Hesitatingly.) Why—it’s hot, ain’t it? 

Lizy. O not so awful. 

Silas. (After a pause.) Wall, say, Lizy Jane. 

Lizy. Yes? 

Silas. Don’t ye think—er—it’s—er—ruther hot? 

Lizy. (Impatiently.) Why, no, I don’t! Is that all ye’ve got ter 
say? (Mose comes to curtain and listens amused.) 

Silas. Wall, Lizy Jane, I was about ter propose— 

_ Lizy. (Ecstatically.) O Silas! 

Silas. That we have" some ice cream fer supper. 

Lizy. (Disappointed.) O Silas! 

Mose. (Aside.) I ’clar fo’ de Lawd, dat woman hab jest done 
got to get a man, someway. I golly! I hope she hain’t go no designs 
on dis heah chile! If Massa Fedderhead ’ud git sight o’ her now, 
he done sue her fo’ breach o’ provocation! 

Silas. Well, what you say, Lizy Jane? 

Lizy. (Rises, speaks coolly.) Why, yes, I guess I can manage, it, 
Silas. (Pauses, walking sulkily to L. C. entrance, not, however, 
seeing Mose. Turns at entrance and speaks to Silas.) Silas! (No 
reply. She takes a step toward him.) Silas! (No reply. She keeps 
walking closer to him, hnally screaming in his ear.) Si-las! I say! 
(He jumps hack, frightened, and rubs ear, staring at her in amazed 
perplexity.) I say, Silas! 

Silas. For the Lord’s sake, say it, then! 

Lizy. Be yer a-goin’ to let that hi-fa-lu-tin doctor-feller have 
Rosie fer sure keeps? 

Silas. Why, the wind sartin does seem to b*e a-blowin’ in that 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


37 


d’rection mighty fierce jest now, Lizy Jane. Don’t see as how I’ve 
got any call ter be a-mixin’ up in the fracas, even s’posin’ I felt 
a-hankerin’ ter butt in. 

Lizy. But, Silas, you know Bill, he says— 

Silas. To hell with Bill! ’Tain’t any of his funeral, any more’n 
’tis mine, ’sfer’s as I can see from where I’m at. 

Lizy. But he says as how all the gang o’ cowboys be a-gittin’ 
mighty fed-headed at the way things is a-goin’, an’ that it may git 
purty hot fer his nibs around here, if— 

Silas. {Laughs heartily.) Ha, ha, ha, ha! That’s a darned good 
one, it sartin is. Don’t ye be a-goin’ an’ gittin’ scairt, Lizy Jane. 
Ye ain’t go no call to be a-losin’ any sleep over that leetle doctor 
this trip, ’cause he’s got sand enough ter look out fer number one 
in any corner where ye can run him. He hain’t sech a gol-durned 
tenderfoot as he may look ter a man up a tre^. 'Twon’t do none 
o’ them any good to be a-kickin’ up a dust erbout nothin’. Ye can 
jest bet your last biled shirt— (Lizy looks at her waist slyly, and 
then at him indignantly.) —agin the wharabouts of a frisky flea, that 
a feller that got’s the gal tremens as bad as Doc Raymond’s got 
’em ain’t a-goin’ ter turn down his hand even if the hull shebang’s 
on top o’ him a-lookin’ fer glory. 

Lizy. But, Silas, jest let me tell yer— 

Mose. {Advancing and cutting in quickly.) I’s done brung up 
yer mail, Missus— {hands her a matrimonial paper, which she tears 
open eagerly) —and Missie Wose, she done wanter see ye out in 
de kitcheny. {Exit Lizy, reading. Mose speaks, aside.) S’pose 
Missie Wose would ruther see de old Nick himself, but I might as 
well help de poah ole man out when I can. I’s sorry for him, I is. 
{Aloud.) Dis am a right magnanigodious day, Massa Wildar. 

Silas. Hey? 

Mose. It am ruther wa’m today! 

Silas. Louder, please. 

' Mose. {Aside.) Lawsy! But ain’t he the deef one! {Aloud.) 
It’s hot! . 

Silas. {Walks away, shaking head in despair. Then turns back 
and presents ear.) Try it again, Mose! 

Mose. I say it’s hot—h-o-t, hot! 

Silas. Yes, yes, it does seem a leetle warm today. Sartin! Sartin! 
{Walks back toward L. C. entrance, then turns toward Mose again.) 
Hotter’n hell, Mose; hotter’n hell! 

Mose. {Wiping face with handkerchief.) Yo’ jest bet it am dat, 
tryin’ to talk to you. 

Silas. {Looks R.) Here comes that blamed wax doll! Guess I’d 
better take a sneak. {Exit Silas, L., hastily.) 


38 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


Enter Archie R. 

Archie. I say, Mose! 

Mose. I’s it, boss. 

Archie. Well, Mose, do you—ah—want—to—earn—a dollah? 

Mose. Does I? Yo’ just done bet I does, sah. 

Archie. Well, can you—ah—keep a secwet, doncherknow? 

Mose. ’Spects I can, boss. Golly! De secwets I’s done kep’, sah! 

Archie. Well—ah—I will give you a dollah—I will, ’pon my 
word—if you’ll help me. I’m in a deuced bad scrape—I am, indeed. 

Mose. Yo’ am, yo’ say, boss? Well, now, dat sartin am bad fo* 
you. What yo’ done be’n up to? ^ 

Archie. O nothing, doncherknow—er—not much. Well, Mose, 
I’ll tell you. I made a big—er—mistake—ah—awhile ago, and—er— 
proposed, doncherknow, to Miss Slocum. 

Mose. Pwoposed—to dat ole spinsterette? I golly! but yo’ done 
had yo’ nerve right with you I Yo’ am a bigger ninny dan I done 
took yo’ fo, boss—an’ dat am useless. I’ll bet a pint of cider de 
ole gal was suah ’nough mad. 

Archie. Well, no, Mose; not exactly. In fact, doncherknow, she 
accepted me on the spot, and now insists upon holding me to it. 

Mose. Yes, yes, I’s next to dat all right, all right. I cotched yo’ 
a-holdin’ her to you, too, you know. 

Archie. But that was from necessity, Mose, doncherknow, it 
weally was—not from choice, upon my word, it wasn’t, Mose. You 
just must believe me! Why, I’d rather go straight up, I had indeed. 

Mose. And dis heah chile don’ blame yo’ none, boss. But what 
fo’ yo’ do it? Drunk or crazy? 

Archie. I thought she was—ah—Miss Wildah, doncherknow. 

Mose. What? Yo’ don’ took dat freak fo’ Missie Wose? Yo’ 
eyesight must be gittin’ wusser’n wusser. Yo’ done needs anudder 
one o’ dem air glass eyes, boss, if yo’s done gwine make such 
moves as dat. 

Archie. But I did not see her, Alose. My back was turned, and— 

Mose. O yes, I sees. “Unsight and unseen,” like de pig in de 
bag. Dat air Missie Slocum ain’t so mighty-slow to come aftah all, 
am she, boss? Yo’ has my profounded sympatheticulars, boss. Yo’ 
am in it good an’ proper, yo’ am fo’ suah. An’ yo’ done wants dis 
chile to help yo’ out? 

Archie. Yes, Mose, I do, indeed, doncheknow. 

Mose. I’ll do it, boss. ’Deed an’ I will. I’ll fix de ole gal a dish. 
(Starts L.) But say, boss, I t’inks yo’ done bettah hand obah de 
dollah fust. (Archie searches all his pockets for money, Mose 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


39 


watching and imitating, shozuing great anxiety. Finally Archie 
finds it, looks at it regretfully and reluctantly hands it to Mose, 
tripping out R.) 

Archie. (At exit, looking hack over shoulder, shaking head.) 
It’s worth it, but— (sighs and exits). 

Mose. (Makes great fuss over money, testing it by ringing it 
on table, tossing it up, catching it, biting it, etc., very much elated.) \ 
Dat air wax doll am not so doggone wuss aftah all. Dis chile must 
git busy right away. I’s gwine fix it fo’ him suah. I’s gwine hide 
right undah dis heah table an’ done t’ink it all out. Golly! Dere 
comes dat ole gal now! (Hides under table, pulling spread around 
him.) 

Enter Lizy R. 

Lizy. Silas! Silas! (Looks around, speaks disappointedly.) Why, 
he ain’t here mow at all.' And I wonder where dear Archie is! I 
must say he don’t act so mighty devoted, but I s’pose it’s the way 
o’ men folks. A gal like me can’t expect ’em to feel just like she 
do. I s’pose dear Archie feels a leetle timid anyway. Poor dear! 
(Mose snorts.) What’s that? the dog? Where can he be? It’s 
dogrdays, too. O what if he’s gone mad! And why, O why, isn’t 
dear Archie here to protect me? (Mose snorts again. Business of 
playing hide-and-seek around the table, Mose dodging dexterously. 
She finally kicks under table. Mose screams.) 

Mose. Ouch! Jimminy cricketees! Let up on dat! (Comes out 
rubbing head, speaks in aggrieved tone.) Now what fo’ did yo’ 
be doin’ dat? 

Lizy. Holy Moses ! ^ 

Mose. Yo’ am right, Missie Slocum. I’s Moses, suah ’nuff; but 
what yo’ done go ’n do dat fo’? 

Lizy, Well, what upon airth was you a-doin’ under thar? 

Mose. I w^as just a-waitin’ fo’ somet’ing to turn up. 

Lizy. Well, something did turn up, didn’t it? 

Mose. Yo’ jest done bet it did dat. (Looks at her feet, rubbing 
head.) Say, Missie Slocum, I’s awfully worrited, I is. 

Lizy. Worried! You worried? What about, fer land’s sake? 

Mose. About dat air dudykins, Massa Feddahead. 

Lizy. (Coyly.) About Mr. Featherhead? Why? 

Mose. Ain’t yo’ eber done noticed anything awful about him? 

Lizy. Anything awful! Why, of course not. What do you mean? 

Mose. O I don’t b’lieve I bettah tell yo’, Missie Slocum. I’s so 
feared yo’ done might git scairt. 

Lizy. Now, see here, Mose, If ye’ve got anything ter say, ye’d 
jest better be a-sayin’ it—d’ye hear? (Pulls his ear.) 



40 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


Mose. Ow ! Ovv! Yes, I’s a-hearin’, Missic Slocum! ’Deed, Missic, 
and yo’ done bettah let go! Dat air ear am fastened purty tight at 
de udder end. Fs a-gwin^ ter 'tell yo’, ’deed an’ I is I 

Lizy. Out with it, then I 

Mose. Well, yo’ see. Missus, dis heah Massa Feddahhead am not 
jest right up heah. (Taps head significantly.) Yo’ see he am 
mighty fine lookin’, and all de woman folks done git mashed on him 
ebrywhere he go. (She nods, consciously proud of her conquest.) 
Well, Missie Slocum, as I done jest telled yo’, his uppah story am 
a reg’lah wheel factory, and ebry woman he sees, he marries, an’ 
den— (rolls eyes gruesoniely). 

Lizy. (Clutching his arm eagerly.) And then? (Mose draws 
his hand suggestively across his throat.) Mose! Ye don’t mean it? 

Mose. Dar now ! Didn’t dis chile done tole yo’ yo’d git scairt ? 

Lizy. (Wringing hands.) O dear! O dear! Can any man be 
trusted? O do let me go and make me some ginger tea, to settle 
my nerves! (Exits, pushing Mose roughly out of her way. Calls 
just off L.) Silas! 

Mose. (Recover his equilibrium and looks around apprehen¬ 
sively to make sure she has gone.) Whew! Talk about yer western 
cyclones ! Dat am as bad a one as I keer to be knockin’ up agin. It 
am fo’ suah ! De ole man bettah run fo’ his life now ! He am got 
to be a mighty swift runnah if he done git away from dat! 
(Shakes head.) Fs sorry fo’ him, I is, but I jest had to help Massa 
Feddahhead out some way. 

Phil. (Out C.) Mose! Mose! 

Mose. (Straightens up, instantly at attention.) Yes, sah! T’s 
heah, sah! 

Philip enters L. C. 

• Phil. Mose, didn’t you get me any mail this morning? 

Mose. Why, yes, sah. I done gib yo’ a lettah as soon’s I corned 
back. 

Phil. What do you mean, you black rascal? I haven’t seen a sign 
of you since you came. 

Mose. (Searches all his pockets.) ’Deed, Massar Fs dead sartin, / 
I is!—I ’clar to goodness, l 30 ss, heah am dat lettah now!, (Smells 
of it with long sniff.) 

Phil. Give it to me this instant! (Grabs for letter, but Mose 
dodges, and he grabs ear instead.) 

Mose. Say, boss, hadn’t yo’ jest as soon p’rform dat air op’ration 
on dis uddah ear? Dis one’s had ’bout all it can stan’ fo’! 

Phil. My letter, then—at once! 

Mose. (Bows very low, presenting it.) Your lettah, then— at 


A PRAIRIE' ROSE. 


41 


once! (Phil opens letter eagerly and becomes at once absorbed, 
walking down L. A pause, during which Mose watches Phil appre¬ 
hensively, then walks toward him protestingly.) ’Deed, Massa, I 
didn’t mean to keep it. I jest didn’t— 

Phil. (Busy reading.) Well, don’t let it happen again; that’s all. 

Mose. (Aside.) He’s mighty ’tic’lar' ’bout dem letters wid de 
stinkem on. (Walks toward Phil and sniffs, trying to smell letter.) 
I say, boss, it am a shame to ’cuse dis chile ob tryin’ to confistocate 
dat air lettah, jest ’cause he done fergit he hab it. ’Deed it am. 

Phil. (Still absentniindedly absorbed in letter.) Well, never 
mind now. Run along out and don’t bother me. 

Mose. I know yo’ t’ink dis chile shouldn’t ought to had done it, 
boss, but I’s an honest coon, boss, ’deed an’ I is, an’ I— 

Phil. Will you keep still and leave me alone? 

Mose. Yes, boss, but yo’ does t’ink dis chile’s honest, an’— 

Phil. Clear out of here! 

Mose. (Backing out L. C.) Yes, sah ! Yes, sah ! I’s gwine! (At 
door.) But I’s an honest coon, I is, an’— 

Phil snatches book and fires it at door just in time to hit Rob, 
who is entering, L. C. 

Rob. Look out, Phil. What are you trying to do to me? 

Phil. Excuse me, Rob. That was meant for Mose, who was 
provoking me again beyond all endurance. 

Rob. a letter from Dorothy, Phil? I wish you were as happy as 
I am, old man. (Lies on sofa with Chicago daily.) 

Phil. (Walks to chair.) I wish so, too, Rob, but I am going to 
know my fate the very day I light in Chicago again. (Sits chair.) 

Rob. Good for you, Phil. That’s the way to talk. “Faint heart 
never won fair lady.” I’m so happy myself' that I can’t bear to 
think of your being any longer in suspense. (Both read silently 
awhile.) 

Phil. (Putting letter iji pocket.) Rob. 

Rob. (Laying aside paper.) Well. 

Phil. Have you told Rose about your former marriage? 

Rob. (Sits up.) No, Phil, not a word. I have resolved to several 
times, but somehow I can’t get up sufficient courage. 

Phil. I think you ought to, Rob. 

Rob. So do I. ' 

Phil. I’ve a notion it might make a difference to her. She might 
care more than you think. You know some of these country people 
don’t look at these things in the way you and I—and, indeed, the 
world in general—do. 


42 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


Rob. I know it, Phil—I know it! And it worries me. But I can’t 
give her up. 

Rose comes to curtains, C., and listens, tinperceived. 

Rob. My marriage was so unhappy, and my wife has gone so 
completely out of my life—why should I be compelled to recall 
the past? (Soft Music.) 

Rose. What did I hear you say, Rob? Your— wifef 

Rob. (Rises.) Rose, you here! 

Rose. Yes, an’ I heard what ye jest said, Rob. I didn’t go to 
listen, but I couldn’t help bearin’. Tell me what ye meant. I’m goin’ 
ter be yer wife, ain’t I? 

Rob. You certainly are. Rose. Phil, won’t you leave us alone a 
few minutes? I want to explain. (Phil bows courteously and exits 
C.) Sit down. Rose. (Sits on sofa, motioning her to seat beside him.) 

Rose. No, Rob, not there! I be awful ’feared I hain’t got no 
right there. (Sits in chair by table.) 

Rob. All the right in the world. Rosebud. Let me tell you all 
there is to tell. I know I should have done so before, Rose. There 
is no excuse for my failing to do so, only—well, I didn’t—that’s all. 

Rose. No, you didn’t, Rob. Tell me now. 

Rob. I will. You see. Rose, I—well, the fact is—er—what I want 
to tell you is— ' 

Rose. Hurry up, Rob. 

Rob. Be patient with me, Rose. I’m trying. Six years ago, when 
I was a mere lad I married— 

Rose. M arried !— 

Rob, My cousin, to please my mother, and to keep in the family 
a piece of worthless property we could have done better without. 
She was a nice girl enough, so far as that goes— 

Rose. (Interrupting.) Rob, did ye love her? 

Rob. No, never! Nor did I pretend to. 

Rose. But, Rob, did she love you? 

Rob. Not in the least. If she had, things would not have turned 
out as they did. No, she didn’t love me, and we couldn’t hit it off 
together at all, and one day, after an especially stormy interview, 
she left me and went back to her mother. I didn’t love her. Rose, 
but I honestly meant to do my duty by her. I tried every means 
within my power to get her to return to me, but she would listen to 
nothing I could say, and finally she was granted a divorce and she 
and her mother left the city. 

Rose. Poor thing! Where did she go to, Rob? 

Rob. I never, knew. She always had an ambition for a dramatic 
career, and it is probable that she went upon the stage. In fact, a 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


43 


friend of mine once told me that she was becoming something of a 
tragedy queen, under a fictitious name, hut I have never learned 
anything definite regarding it, and there may be nothing in it. 

Rose. And—? 

Rob. (Rises.) That’s all there is to my little story, girlie. My 
life so far has been a lonely one, but it is going to be happier now— 
isn’t it? (Crosses to Rose.) When you are my wife— 

Rose. No, no, no! She be your wife. Not me! 

Rob. Don’t say that, Rose. You don’t understand! She is di¬ 
vorced, you know. She is not my wife. 

Rose. Yes, she be—in the good Lord’s sight, Rob. He don’t know 
nothin’ ’bout these avorces. Onct I went to a weddin’, and I mind 
yet what the preacher-man said : “What God has jined, let no one 
part,” or—or—well,, somethin’ like that. Give me back my promise 
Rob. I can’t go with you now. 

Rob. Rose, I wonder if you can guess just what you are dooming 
me to. I’m a young man yet, dear, but, as I told you, I’ve seen 
more than my share of the big world’s sorrow. I don’t think I’ve 
ever been such a wicked man, in the sense that the world calls 
wicked, but I know I’m far enough from being a saint. But, little 
girl, listen. I’ve been a better man in every way since I’ve known 
and loved you, and I could do so much to help the world along 
with you to keep me straight. Why, it just seems as though you 
were’holding my very life in these little hands of yours. What will 
I be—what can I be—if you turn me down now? You seem my 
only hope of peace, or even of goodness! Rose, don’t you love me? 

Rose. Love you? ^ 

Rob. Don’t tell me that you don’t. It means so much to me. 
Surely you have not been fooling me! You do love me? 

Rose. Rob, you know it’s jest ’cause I love you so much that I 
can’t let ye do this wicked thing. I ain’t got no book lamin’ an’ all 
that truck, but I’ve be’n ter the meetin’-house, and heerd the Good 
Book read over an’ over agin, ever sence I can remember, an’ I 
hain’t heerd nothin’ good ’bout avorces from it yet. Rob, do you 
tliink we could ever be real sure-’nough happy together, anywheres 
in all this big, wide world, if we knew, ’way down in here (hand 
on heart) that we wa’n’t a-doin’ jest the square thing? I couldn’t. 
And neither could you, after awhile. 

Rob. But the law— 

Rose. (Interrupting.) I don’t know a darn thing ’ bout the law, 
Rob, and I don’t b’lieve I keer to. Uncle Sile says it be almighty 
crooked sometimes. An’ you know thar be a higher law than men 
make, that I’ve^ be’n brung up ter foller. Thar ain’t any use in 
our a-foolin ’ourselves, Roh. Right be right, alius an’ f’rever! 


44 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


Rob, (Pleadingly.) But, Rose— (Kneels beside her). 

Rose. (Puts up hand to ward him off.) No, Rob, no! If it kills 
me ter let ye go, I must do i^l I’ve got a mother up thar— (pointing 
up) —an’ she mus’ never be ’shamed to look down on the baby she 
left down here. Don’t look that way, Rob. I don’t lay a thing 
up agin ye, ’cause I know ye thought as how ’twar all right. Lots 
an’ lots o’ good people—better folks ’n I be, Rob, an’ smarter, an’ 
all that—feel different about it ’n I do, an’ ’tain’t fer me ter say 
nothin’ agin ’em. But something down in here— (hand on heart) — 
tells me it’s all wrong fer you ’n me, and—Rob, it jest can’t be! 

Rob. (Rises.) Then—I am answered. God bless you. Rose! 
(Pause. She looks up.) O may you never, never know just all this 
means to me! (Walks R.) 

Rose. (Rises, crosses to him.) And do you think I don’t know? 
O Rob! There’s sech a great big smarting in here. (Hand on heart.) 
It jest seems ’sif my heart was goin’ to bu’st in two! 

Rob. And yet you persist in this mad idea of sending me from 
you! You will give me no right to say anything to you but that 
bitterest of all bitter words—good-bye! Shall we say it? (Holds 
out arms to her. She hesitates a moment, then places both hands 
in his.) 

Rose. O we gotter, Rob—we just gotter! (Looks up pleadingly.) 
You will be a good man, won’t ye? ^ 

Rob. I can’t promise you. Rose. I can’t see much ahead of me 
that’s likely to encourage a fellow to do anything but go straight 
to the devil, just as fast as he can. (She buries head in hands.) 
But—don’t cry. Rose! Don’t! I’m just a brute to talk like this to 
you. I will try. Yes, I will—to live as you wish me to—so help me 
God! And, Rose, make me a promise, will you? Just one? 

Rose. Ye know I will if I can. 

- Rob. You can, all right. It is just this. If I am dying and send 
for you, promise me that you will come to me, wherever I may be, 
and that your dear face shall be the last I see when I cross the line 
between earth and—and—and—the other side. 

Rose. ’Course I’ll do that, Rob, if ye want me. 

Rob. Thank you. (Bends to kiss her.) 

Rose. (Drawing away.) No, no! Ye musn’t kiss me now. Yer 
kisses b’long ter her—yer wife—not ter poor Rose! 

Rob, But, Rose, think! If you were dying here on this lounge 
w'ould you think it an unpardonable sin for me to kiss you, just 
once, in token of our last parting? 

Rose. No, in course I’m not sech a silly as that, but— 

Rob. Well, dear, are you not dead to me? (Aft^r a little hesita¬ 
tion she understands and raises her head to him. He kisses her 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 45 

forehead.) Thank you, Rose. You are too good to me—far too 
good. I— 

Rose. {Breaking away from him and returning to L. C.) Good¬ 
bye, Rob. It’s all off between us now; but—don’t fergit ter think 
o’ me sometimes. {Exit. Rob stafts to follow, but at entrance turns 
hack and drops to sofa.) 

Bill, after a pause, enters L. C. 

Bill. Be that you, Doc Raymond? 

Rob. {Looks up with a stare of surprise, speaks as if bewil¬ 
dered.) Yes, Mr. Briggs—I guess—so. 

Bill. O ye needn’t ter mind the flourishes ter me. I be jest plain 
Bill. Don’t keer a teatotal damn fer all the gilt edges and lace 
trimmings. 

Rob. They don’t amount to much; that’s a fact, Mr.—pardon me— 
Bill. 

Bill. What I want ter know is, what have ye be’n a doin’ ter that 
leetle gal out thar? {Points C.) 

Rob. To Rose? 

Bill. Yes, in course—to Rose! What other gal be thar out thar? 

Rob. Bill, I haven’t done anything but to love her— 

' Bill. {Interrupting.) And win her heart and break it, and fire 
it on the ground 1 

Rob. No, Bill—no I Not that I I have won her heart—I hope— 
I think—but— 

Bill. (Rob on sofa. Bill bending over him.) That’ll do! No 
excuses go down here! You may think it be a leetle thing ter come 
out here with yer puny face an’ sugar mouth, and lyin’ smile, an’ 
steal from me the leetle gal I’ve alius loved. But I could have 
stood even that. Doc Raymond, if ye’d acted the part of a man 
an’ stood by her an’ made her happy. But when I see her as she 
is now, cryin’ her purty eyes out, an’ know you’ve done it. {Crosses 
L. C.) 

Rob. {Rises and interrupts.) Stop, Bill! Stop! You are greatly 
mistaken. It is she herself who has refused to become my wife. 
God knows I have never— 

Bill. You lie! 

Rob. {Crosses to Bill.) Sir! 

Bill. Yes, you lie! How do you like it—eh? And jest let me 
break it gently to ye, right here an’ now, ye disreputable pup, that 
if ye ever dast to say another single word ter that gal, or ter even 
see her again. I’ll stick this knife ter the very boUom of yer dev¬ 
ilish heart, an— {Takes knife from bootleg and holds it over Rob’s 
head. Rose enters hastily, L. C., and steps between them.) 


46 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


TABLEAU. 

(Rose is facing Bill, R., her right hand repelling him, holding 
the hand with the knife firmly at the wrist. Bill turns away, 
hanging head. Rob, dropping to one knee, takes her left hand 
between both of his and presses his lips to it. Hold pose for —) 

SLOW CURTAIN. 

SECOND CURTAIN. 

(Bill at door. Rob and Rose R. C.) 

Rosf. Ye be a durn fool, Bill. (Bill exits L. C.) 

CURTAIN. 


ACT III. 

Scene I : Drop showing narrow hallway, bare except for numbered 
doors along back. Electric light bulb near center of back, not 
turned on. Lights very low. Stage very dimly illuminated. 

Rob enters L., looks all around uncertainly. 

Rob. No lights on yet? I wonder where Phil is? He said he’d 
be here by six, sure. I’ve no idea where to find his friend’s room. 
What was the number? (Strikes match and looks at number on 
door.) 5 - 2 - 1 — 5 - 2 - 1 . No, that wasn’t it. Why is it, I wonder, that 
I just can’t think of anything tonight but the West—yes, and Rose 
—my little lost Rose. 

Bill enters stealthily, L. 

Bill. Hist, there! Be that you. Doc Raymond? 

Rob. (Wheels excitedly.) What? Briggs? (Holds out hand. Bill 
spurns it.) No? Why, Bill, I— 

Bill. (Strikes match and peers into Rob’s face.) Oho! So it 
sure is you, eh? With yer pretty, painted face! Be’n chasin’ ye all 
* over hell’s half-acre, plenty long enough to be sure I was on the 
trail of the right steer this trip ! And now— 

Rob. (Thunderstruck.) .Chasing me? You? 

Bill. Yes, you! Me! And now, you— 

Rob, (Uneasily—turning down hall.) But I have to— 

Bill. (Heading him off.) You have to listen to me—see? Doc 
Raymond, I want to hand out some plain truths to you, right here 
and now! Such devils as you be fergit mighty easy, I know, but 
I don’t think ye’ve quite had time yet to fergit my “Prairie Rose.” 



A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


47 


Rob. (Raises hand to stop him.) Don’t, Bill! 

Bill. (Laughs scornfully.) Don’t like it, eh? Know how the 
other feller feels, then, maybe? Eh? But she is my Rose—she 
always was my Rose —she always will be my Rose—whether you like 
it or lump it, my beautiful gentleman, my Rose, with the eyes jest 
like leetle bits out o’ the blue sky, and set with the stars, and 
cheeks jest like them wild roses that the angels scatter pell-mell 
over the prairies. I knowed that leetle gal, sir, ever sence she war 
old enough to prattle her leetle baby lingo, an’ I jest wanter tell 
ye that thar ain’t no sweeter music in them choirs up yonder— 
(points up )—for old Bill Briggs than he heerd the fust tim'e her 
leetle rosebud lips lisped out the name o’ Bill. (Has forgotten him¬ 
self in raving about Rose, and Rob listens with very evident pain.) 
Never keered special ’bout my name afore, ’cept that it seemed 
well enough to do business with, and all that; but, somehow, it alius 
had a different sound in my ears, and made my heart go thumpety- 
thump, thumpety—thump—when my leetle sweetheart said it. 

Rob. Sweetheart? Yours? 

Bill. Sweetheart? Mine—yes, mine I Always mine! She loved me 
then—maybe she didn’t for sure know it—but she did—till you came. 
And—and— 

Rob. (Grasping his arm.) Bill is that the truth? Did she love 
you? 

Bill. Love me? (Looks away a moment, stumbling over the lie, 
then turns and gets it out boldly.) Why, of course she did! She 
told me how you tempted her with the fine things in this here hell¬ 
hole—how you— 

Rob. What? 

Bill. How you drew pretty pictures of the gay and noisy life— 

Rob. Bill! 

Bill. Till ye’d won her clean away from me with yer lies and 
sugar kisses— 

Rob. (Staggers back.) *0 my God! 

Bill. Yes, she told me all about it—of course she did, when she 
got her senses back, and knew how ye tried to fool her, an’ all 
that, and—and—she’s mine again now—all mine—she loves -me like 
the devil, and—you—you—curse your lying lips! Curse your devilish 
eyes! I’ll—I’ll—I’ll fix ye so ye won’t make a fool out o’ any other ^ 
leetle gal! I’ll—I’ll— (has advanced threateningly, Rob retreating, 
each eyeing the other.) 

Rob. Why, Bill, calm yourself! You don’t mean— (Bang.) God! 
(Bill shoots.) 

Bill. But I do mean it, curse you! I’m square with ye now! 


48 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


(Rob has fallen back against wall, Bill facing him exultantly. 
Phil conies in R.) 

Phil. (Calls softly.) Rob! Rob! (Sees them and advances in 
alarm.) Why, Rob, what does this mean? (Turns up light 
quickly.) Briggs, you? What have you done? 

Bill. Yes, it’s Briggs—see? (Squares shoulders and stares defi¬ 
antly at Phil.) That devil, he— (Phil grabs'him angrily.) 

Rob. (Brokenly.) Phil—be easy—with him—don’t hurt him—for— 
Rose’s—sake! It was—an accident, Phil—just an accident—tell— 
everybody—tell—Rose! Accident—accident! (Staggers. Byiil springs 
and catches him as he is falling.) 

Bill. (Laughs wickedly and sneeringly.) Yes—an accident, 

Bryant! Tell Rose! 

Phil. (Supporting Rob with one arm, points with other to L.) 
Go! (Bill stares at him a moment, then hangs head and starts 
out L.) 

QUICK CURTAIN. 

Scene II : Room in same hospital. Stage set as per diagram, 
medicine and flowers and fruits on stand. Wine flask and glass on 
smaller stand. Doors R., L. and R. C. in ftat. 

Curtain rises disclosing Rob on cot, head to R. Rose in chair at 
feet, facing R., fanning him gently. Dorothy sits in chair beside 
stand, writing in pad on her knee, and Phil stands behind Rose’s 
chair, bending over and looking intently into Rob’s unconscious 
face. Positions are 'held for a full minute. Then Phil tiptoes 
back to Dorothy, moves a chair noiselessly to a place beside Doro¬ 
thy and then stands behind it, bending over to talk to her. She 
looks at hint inquiringly. 

Phil. He is still sleeping, but somehow I feel sure that the crisis 
has passed, and that he’ll be conscious when he awakes. 

Dorothy. How rapidly he has been gaining ever since Rose came. 

Phil. Hasn’t he! 

Dorothy. And how fortunate that you sent for her. 

Phil. I should say so. 

N Dorothy. How did you happen to do it? 

Phil. Why, he raved about her so much, you know, that the doc¬ 
tors decided that nothing else would save him. 

Dorothy, Well, she has proven to be a capital nurse, that’s sure. 

Phil. Yes, and he actually does seem to know when she is with 
him, too, and grows as quiet and obedient as a lamb. 

Dorothy. Poor girl! 

Phil. Why? 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


49 


Dorothy. It must be hard on her. 

Phil. O I don’t know. It must do her lots of good to feel that 
she is really able to do something for him. I imagine she’ll find it 
harder to go back alone to the old life of the West. 

Dorothy. O but she isn’t going back. 

Phil. {Surprised.) What,? 

Dorothy. She was telling me just yesterday that she had decided 
to remain here and take a course in nursing. 

Phil. {Much interested.) Really? 

Dorothy. {Nods.) You know the doctors and the matron have 
been urging her to do so ever since she came. 

Phil. Good for her! {Pause. Phil looks first at Rose, then at 
Rob reflectively.) I wonder if there’s no hope for dear old Bob 
there now. 

Dorothy. {Shakes her head.) I’m afraid not. 

Phil. {Sadly.) No I 

Dorothy. I imagine she’s a little bit— 

Phil. Stubborn? 

Dorothy. {Smiling.) Well, yes, stubborn in her ideas of right 
and wrong, and I’m afraid he’ll never make her see the matter in 
the same light as he looks at it. 

Phil. I can’t understand her. 

Dorothy. Neither can I. It seems to me that if she really loved 
the doctor as much as she seems to think she does, she wouldn’t 
hold out against him for such a trifling obstacle as that unfortunate 
divorce of his. 

Phil. Still, as that odd old uncle of her says, “Rose is powerful 
sot in her idees I” 

Dorothy. Well, when she’s seen a little more of the world, you 
know, I think her views on some questions will be considerably 
modified, don’t you,? 

Phil. Yes, fortunately. 

Dorothy. Or unfortunately. {Pause, thinking. Then —) What 
are they going to do with—with— him? 

Phil. With—? 

Dorothy. Why, with that wicked fellow, Briggs, I think you 
call him? 

Phil. Do with him? {She nods. He pretends surprise.) Why, 
what could they do with him? So long as it was -an accident— 

Dorothy. {Scornfully.) Accident! Humph! ^ 

Phil. {Glances uneasily at TIose.) ’Sh ! {Pause.) Have you told 
her about our meeting Rob’s wife in the hall the other day? Does 
she know the former Mrs. Raymond is a patient in this very hos¬ 
pital even now? 


50 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


Dorothy. Yes, and she has'talked of it a great deal ever since, 
and keeps asking so many questions that I can’t help feeling that 
she has some crazy project in her mind that she hasn’t seen fit to 
confide in me. 

Phil. (Whistles softly.) Whew! It’s “Good-bye, Rose I” for 
Bob, all right, all right, if she once gets to feeling sorry for the 
woman in the case. What strange turns things do happen to take 
in this world sometimes. 

Dorothy. (Thoughtfully, with a sigh.) Yes, indeed. 

Phil. But, Dorothy, you haven’t told me yet what you think of 
her. 

Dorothy. I? 0 1 think she is just perfectly charming, and I 
don’t wonder any more at the doctor’s infatuation. Indeed, I am 
now wondering how it happened that you didn’t lose your heart to 
her, too. . 

Phil. Nonsense, Dorothy. How could I? You know as well as 
I do that I left it behind me in Chicago. 

Dorothy. Indeed I 

' Phil. As if you didn’t know it. Come, Dorothy, when are you 
going to make me the happiest man in the city? 

Dorothy. Which means—? 

Phil. To marry me, of course. 

Dorothy. O Phil, let us not think of that while your friend is 
so sick. When he is well, then you may ask me, and—I don’t think 
you’ll have any reason to find fault with my answer. 

Phil. (Throws arms around her.) Thanks, Dorothy. I can wait 
now. (Bends to kiss her, hut Rose clears throat and he straightens 
up, both of them looking at Rose in alarm. She is busy fanning the 
doctor, however, and he bends over Dorothy again to kiss her as 
Rose coughs. Same business. Bends over her again as Rose rises 
to shake out skirts, resumes seat and occupation, with no thought of 
them. This time Phil rises with an air of irritation.) Let’s go out 
of here, Dorothy. 

Dorothy. (Rising with a smile.) Certainly, Phil. Miss Wilder. 
(Pause.) Miss Wilder. 

Rose. (Looks back over shoulder, sees that Dorothy is speaking 
to her, and rises.) Be ye a-speakin’ ter me. Miss Deane? I ain’t 
’xactly list ter that name yet. 

Dorothy. (Crosses to Rose, extending hand, which Rose accepts.) 
Yes, I think we may as well leave you now. There seems to be 
nothing we can do to help. (Starts toward door R. as Phil crosses 
to Rose with same business.) If there is anything we can do for 
you, don’t hesitate to call on us. 

Rose. Thank you. Miss Deane. It be so kind of you. (Shakes 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


51 


hands with Phil.) And Mr. Phil, too. I don’t know what I’d ever 
have done without you. 

Phil. We will drop in often and see how he is progressing, 
and in case he gets worse, call me^up at once. You have my 'phone 
* number—Main 3721. 

Rose. {With an uneasy glance at cot.) O ye don’t think— 

Phil. {At cot, looking at Rob.) No, no—no cause of alarm at 
all. He’s doing fine. He ought to do some tall stunts in the getting 
well line to pay you for taking such excellent care of him. {Joining 
Dorothy at door R.) And I’m sure he will. Don’t worry. 

Rose. Thank ye, Mr. Phil. Good-bye. 

Phil and Dorothy. Good-bye. {Exit R.) 

‘ {After following them to door and watching them off. Rose re¬ 
turns to head of cot. She stands there looking at Rob, shaking head 
to signify her anxiety at his condition, then resumes seat. Pause, 
while fanning him.) 

Rob. {Rousing.) Rose—you here! I was just dreaming sweet 
dreams of the West—and of you—and to awake and find you here 
seems like the fulfillment of that dream, and too good to be true. 
How kind this is of you. 

Rose. O no, Rob, there ben’t no kindness about it. I be only 
a-bein’ kind ter myself, that be all. {Rises.) 

Rob. But I’m not certain now that I’m awake. Are you sure you 
are flesh and blood? Won’t you vanish if I touch you? 

Rose. O I be the real thing, Rob. See! {Shakes hands.) Say, Doc, 
ain’t I a-lookin’ sort o’ scrumptious in these here grown-up togs? 
{Turns around slowly.) 

Rob. You always look lovely to me, Rosebud. 

Rose. {Leans, over hack of chair, looking at him and speaking 
very seriously and anxiously.) But tell me, Rob—be I a-lookin’ 
like a lady? 

Rob. A lady, Rose? I only wish that every girl was as truly a 
’ lady as I know you to be. But don’t leave me. Sit down. 

Rose. In jest a jiffy. Dr. Blank said that when you came to, I 
was to give ye a racer—no, chaser—no, bracer—that’s it. {Takes 
wine glass from stand and pours wine into it from flask.) Here 
be yer dope. Doc. {Goes back of cot and raises his head to give 
him wine. He makes zvry face. Rose laughs.) Now ye can see 
what it be like to have to swill this stuff down ye, and maybe ye’ll 
have a leetle mercy on yer patients. {He puts his hand to his lips 
and makes another face. She laughs again.) ’Tain’t jest like 
soothin’ syrup, is it? {Fixes his pillows.) There. Is that more 
comfy? {He nods. She takes flowers from vase on stand and sits 


52 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


doivn.) See the purty posies Miss Deane brung to ye? Wan’t it 
jest too awful sweet of her? 

Rob. Very, 

Rose. These red ones are Carrie-Nations—ain't they dandy? 
{He nods.) And these yellish ones be new-fangled things. Least¬ 
wise I never heerd tell on ’em afore. She calls ’em nasty—nasty— 
nasty—O yes, “nasty urchins”—that’s it. I knew it was nasty— 
something or other. (Rob laughs.) Ye must be a-feelin’ better. , 

Rob. Very much better. But I’m in no hurry to get well if you’re 
going to stay with me. It makes me feel like a boy again to see 
you. 

Rose. Do it—honest Injun? 

Rob. Yes, a regular love-sick boy, you know. But your coming 
to me now bids me hope again. Tell me. Rose. Haven’t you re¬ 
lented ? 

Rose. (PuaHcd.) *Re-lent-ed? Don’t you mean re-pented? That’s 
what the preacher-feller at the arrival meetin’ said we’d got to do. 

Rob. No, I don’t mean that. I mean just this. Haven’t you 
changed your mind yet about marrying me—now that you’ve brought 
me back to life? 

Rose. (Rises.) Doc Raymond, I ’low you shouldn’t ought ter o’ 
said that. ’Tain’t playin’ fair, noways. It ain’t right, and that’s jest 
all there is to it, and coaxin’ don’t help matters a tarnal bit. I 
promised ter come to ye if ye needed me, and I did come, didn’t I? 
But we can’t never be any more to one another than we be now. 
(Sits. He turns head away.) No, don’t turn away from me, Rob. 

I know ye must think I’m a great big silly, and maybe I be, I 
dunno. But I jest can’t see it no other way, God don’t give no 
man more’n one wife to a time, less he’s a heathen Mormon who 
don’t know no better, and don’t wanter. Ye know I’m right, 
don’t ye? 

Rob. You may be. Rose.' I can’t see it yet, though. Why didn’t 
you let me die? 

Rose. Folkses can’t die when they wanter, Rob. We’ve all got 
our work to do, and the fight ain’t a-goin’ ter end’tell it’s all done 
up. And—and —(walks back to bed) O Rob, you’ve got somethin’ 
left to be did. Will ye do it, Rob? Do it fer me? The very biggest 
something I could ever think of to ask? 

Rob. Rose, you know I’ll do anything in the wide world for you 
that I can. 

Rose. Be ke^rful, Rob, how ye promise. I know it be somethin’ 
ye won’t be a hankerin’ arter doin’. 

Rob. I have given you my word. Rose. 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


53 


Rose. Well, then, listen. This be it. Rob, I want yer ter make 
up with yer wife. I want yer ter fergive her and take her back. 

Rob. O Rose! You don’t know what you ask! I can’t! 

Rose. But, reccomember, ye gave me yer word. Be that all yer 
promise be wuth. Doc Raymond? 

Rob. She may be dead, anyway. 

Rose. No, Rob; she ain’t dead. I know whar she be. Rob, she 
loves ye. 

Rob. Must I—can I—put her back in that place where I want no 
one but you? O Rose! 

Rose. It be yer plain duty, Rob. {Pause.) Fer my sake, dear. 
Please, fer my sake. 

Rob. Well, Rosebud, for your sake—and only yours, remember— 
I will try and do what you call my duty—even by her. 

Rose. Thank you, Rob. Nobody’s ever sorry fer a-doin’ what be 
right. You are—so good—you—almost—make me cry. (Falls on 
knees by bed, weeping.) Don’t think—I don’t—love— 

Enter Mose, R. Sees the situation and snee:^es violently as a 
tvarning, Rose jumps up, snatches chair and turns it to position at 
head of cot, facing L., sitting in it quickly and looking very demure 
when Mose at last recovers from his attack and looks at them. 

Mose. Howdy, Missie Wose. ’Scuse me for corruptin’ on yo’, 
but dar am—am—wall, dar am some folkses out heah what done 
wants to know, can dey run in on you-uns a mjnute. 

Rose. Why, in course, Mose, tell ’em to come. 

Mose. (Goes door — calls.) Come in,' you folkses—dar ain’t no 
commission charges to dis heah sarkis. 

Silas enters, followed by Ralph. 

Silas, I vum! Needn’t think we was a-goin’ ter stay out in that 
air entry all day! (Rose runs to him. He greets her with loud 
smack, then holds her off to look at her.) Well, I’ll be horn- 
swiggled, Rosie, ye be a-lookin’ as peart as a pidgin. Yer jest 
a-gittin’ purtier an’ slicker the hull endurin’ time, (Mose grins 
broadly and exits.) 

Rose. But, Uncle Silas, how be all the folks ter hum? 

Silas. Hey? 

Rose. (Loudly.) How’s everything on the ranch? 

Silas. (Irritated.) Now see here, Rosie, why can’t you speak 
out loud, an’ not stand thar a-mumblin’ to yerself like that? (Hand 
back of ear.) Try it again. 

Rose. How’s every one to hum? 


54 


A PKAIRIE ROSE. 


Silas. Bum? Be I lookin’ bum? Why, Rosie, I thought I was 
a-lookin’ right swell in these duds. 

Rose. O you look all right, Uncle Sile. How’s everybody at the 
shack? 

Silas. O they be all right swagger. The broncos be a-lookin’ as 
slick as grease, an’ the cows an’ the chickens, an’ the sheep be a 
doin’ their duty. Lizy Jane, she’s up an’ cornin’ same as ever—dod 
gast that air woman, anyway. She vvants me ter marry her, ye 
know, an’ I’ll be horn-swaggled if she won’t make me do it yet. 
see if she don’t, though I sartin had much ruther not. (Goes to 
Rob.) Wall, Doc, they’ve sartin got you down whar they can 
handle you, all right. Playin’ baby, eh? But ye look like ye was 
wuth a hundred dead men yet. 

Rob. Yes, I’ll soon be on my feet again. I’m made of pretty 
stout stuff, you see, and am not easy to kill. 

Silas. (Laughs.) Damn that Bill! Jest'like him, though. Al¬ 
ways stickin’ his brand on the wrong side o’ the steer. 

Rose. Uncle Sile. (He turns as she pulls his sleeve.) Ye didn’t 
interjuce yer friend. 

Silas. Louder, please. 

Rose. (Points to Ralph.) Who be him? 

Silas. Wall, now, I s’pose I may ’swell let the consarned cat out 
o’ the bag afore it has kittens,. Rosie, he be—your dad. 

Rose. My —dad? (Eyes Ralph strangely. He holds out his hand 
with a smile. She goes to him slowly and shakes hand doubtfully.) 
I—don’t seem to—catch on. (Silas shakes hands with Rob, then 
turns back to them.) 

Silas. Wall, I’ll tell ye jest how it was, Rosie, if ye’ll jest git 
us some cheers to rest our weary hands an’ face. (Rose hurries 
about, getting chairs. Places Ralph R., Silas C., near foot of cot. 
She stands near Silas. While she is getting chairs, Silas pulls 
out big plug of tobacco, taking large bite, which he chews vigor¬ 
ously throughout speech.) Jest after ye come up here to this horse- 
pistol, Rosie, I got a letter from yer pa—all in his own hand-write, 
too—sayin’ as how he’d struck it mighty blamed rich, an' was 
a-comin’ home fer his gal. (Spits floor. Rose runs and gets cus¬ 
pidor, placing it beside him.) I swan, Rosie, I’ll be teatotally 
chawed up and spit out, if I could have druv a nail in a snowbank, 
I was that flabbergasted when I got that air letter. Yes, sir I Yes, 
sir! Ye could have brained me with a toothpick, and broke my 
back with a feather. (Kicks cuspidor across stage out of his way 
and spits on floor. Rose looks worried and hastily replaces cuspi¬ 
dor.) Wall, sir, day arter yistiddy, he turned up hisself, big as life, 
and looking as rich and independent-like as a millionaire, and—wall^ 


A PRAIRIE rose; 


55 


Rosie, I knowecl the old cow had got a calf, jest ’s soon 's I'd seen 
the calf, doggone it, fer I jest wanter tell ye that he wa’n’t so all- 
fired tickled ter find his gal he come ter git a gone out a-nussin’ 
o’ young doctors—no-sir-eesir—and we come off up here as fast 
as ever we could grind it. {Business of spitting and cuspidor re¬ 
peated.) Jehosophat! Didn’t we come a flukin’! Rid up from the 
de-pott in one o’ them air auto-do-somethin’-or-others, ye know, 
that sounds like a cyclone loaded with dynamite, and smells like 
hell on housecleanin’ day, and if we didn’t jest hike fer this place 
ter beat six in a hill, then old Sile’s a liar! I was tarnation glad ter 
git here alive, Rosie, ye can bet yer last pair o’ stbckin’s on that! 
We rid up from the cellar floor in one o’ them—er—er—er—O 
you know, Rosie—them air incubators—that’s it—biff, whizz, zip ! 

—and here we be! Yes, sir, here we be! {Business of spitting re¬ 
peated.) Now, look a-here, Rosie, if ye don’t keep that darned old 
dish out from under my hoofs, I’ll spit right in it, hanged if I 
won’t! So ye see I brung ye a brand new dad—or mebbe an old. 
one borned over again, and he says he’ll buy a fine home fer ye 
right in this very burg, if yer be so ded sot on Shecaygy, an’ Rosie, 
he’ll send yer ter school, and make a fine leddy out o’ ye, arter all! 

Rose. Arter all these years? He might o’ saved hisself the 
trouble. Ye’ve be’n all the dad I knowed anythin’ about, ever sence 
I was big enough to know beans from taters, an’ I don’t see no 
reason ter be changin’ fer some one that never cared a red cent 
whether I lived or died—an’ I ain’t a-goin’ ter! {Stamps foot, 
walks R., crying angrily.) 

Ralph. {Rises.) Can’t you ever forgive me that? {She still sobs 
audibly.) Rose, can’t you? 

Rose. {Facing him.) Mebbe I can, sometime—I dunno. I’ll try 
ter. But if ye keered erbout yer leetle baby when God gived her 
to ye, she might o’ growed up a different gal. 

Ralph. Ah, Rose, I know it! I see it! And I realize all I’ve been 
missing, too! To see you as you are now, so like your mother, and • 
yet be a stranger to you, O Rose! It is more than I can bear! 
Can’t you love me a little? 

Rose. {Surprised.) Love— you? 

Ralph. I don’t ask you to care as much for me as for the uncle 
who has been so tender all your life. I’ve got all these years of 
neglect to make up'for. I know that; but. Rose, if you can only 
give a lonely man a little love—just a little! {Fie holds out his 
arms. She starts toward him very slowly. When about half-way 
to him she turns and runs back to Silas, clinging to him.) 

Silas. He be yer own dad, Rosie. 

Ralph. {Still holding out arms.) Just a little, Rose. (Silas 


56 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


rises and takes her gently over to Ralph and places her in his 
arms, Ralph meeting them at R. C.) 

Rose. Dad, I be a-goin’ ter try. (Silas pulls out big red hand¬ 
kerchief, wipes eyes and finally blows nose with loud demon¬ 
stration.) 

Ralph. My own little girl—at last! 

Silas. {As soon as he has placed Rose in her father’s arms, 
walks aimlessly about room, examining everything, trying to whistle 
under his breath and appear unconcerned, but nevertheless very 
much moved. He now picks up bananas from stand, examining them 
curiously, with much apparent interest.) Gosh all fish-hooks! 
Them’s the biggest string beans I ever come acrost, darned if they 
hain’t! I’ll jest take along a few of ’em to use fer seed! {Puts two 
or three in pocket.) 

Ralph. Rose, this is no place for yon now. 

Rose. {Surprised and puzzled.) No place. Dad? Why? I be 
a-takin’ keer of the doctor. 

Ralph. True enough, but hired help can take your place. I’ve 
heard the whole story. Rose, and—well, it really isn’t proper, you 
know— 

Rose. {Puzzled — interrupts.) Proper? What be that? {Suddenly 
understands.) Dad, did I do wrong? I didn’t go to! 

Ralph. No, child, you were perfectly innocent, and no one living 
could cast a shadow of blame upon you. But you see, it’s different 
now, and as my daughter, it would not be right for you to remain 
longer. Your uncle and I will return to the hotel now, and I’ll 
arrange with the matron of this institution to have the best of 
trained help sent to take your place. Then I’ll come back to take 
you away. How soon can you be ready? 

Rose. {Pettishly.) In half an hour, I s’pose—if I gotten 

Ralph. V^ry well. That will do excellently. Some day, Roso, 
you’ll understand why I ask this of you. {Pats her shoulder. She 
I draws back pettishly. He shakes hands with Rob, speaking some¬ 
thing to hint — dumbly—then returns to. Rose, puts both hands on her 
shoulders and looks silently into her eyes. She returns his gaze 
defiantly.) Good-bye for half an hour, my little girl. 

Rose. {Speaks snappishly to Ralph.) Good-bye! {Speaks tenderly 
to Silas, clinging to him.) O Uncle Silas, good-bye! {As they leave 
R., Rose draws herself to her full height, looking haughtily after 
Ralph, who has looked back over shoulder at her. Returns to cot 
and sits beside Rob.) O Rob! I ain’t a-wantin’ any dad ! I hate him! 

Rob. Why, Rose, I should have expected you to be delighted. 
He’s such a polished gentleman, and so kind and noble looking. I 
am sure he will make the rest of your life worth living. 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


57 


Rose. Mebbe he will, but Uncle Sile is dad enough fer me. 
Enter Phil, R. Rose looks up, sees him and they exchange hows. 

Rose. Ye ain’t fergitted yer promise, have ye, Rob? 

Rob. No, indeed, Rose. Did you think I could? 

Rose. Mr. iBryant. 

Phil. {Has been removing overcoat, now comes toward her.) 
When was I promoted? 

Rose. Well, Mr. Phil, then. Was ye a-goin’ ter stay'a few 
minutes. {He nods.) I’d like to run down stairs on a .little errand. 

Phil. Sure, I’ll stay. Run along. 

Rose. {At door, L.) O I can’t do it! I jest can’t! I’m so young— 
I never had no ma—has God fergot about me, too? {Looks up — 
pauses.) No, no! I will do the square thing! I will! {Exits L.) 

Phil. Well, Rob, old boy, how are you? I was hoping you would 
be able to talk to me this time. I thought I’d lost you, old man. 
I tell you I’ve missed you wonderfully in the last few weeks. 

Rob. Glad to hear that, Phil. 

Phil. Then what makes you look so glum? Should have thought 
you’d have been in the seventh ,heaven of delight to have the 
“Prairie Rose” with you again, and to find yourself getting along 
so well. 

Rob. Why', I—am—Phil. 

Phil. Nonsense. You can’t fool me so easily as that. What’s up? 

Rob. Phil, Rose’s father is here—her own father. 

Phil. Really? {Pauses, whistling a minute while thinking.) 
Well, that’s good news. I’m sure. 

Rob. And he’s a rich man. 

Phil. That’s better yet. 

Rob. And I’m only a poor doctor. 

Phil. Too bad for you, old chap, but conditions sometimes 
change. ' » 

Rob. And I’m a married man—so Rose says. 

Phil. Wish I was. 

Rob. Phil! 

Phil. Yes?. 

Rob. Won’t you understand? 

Phil. Old fellow, I do, and I’m sorry for you. I came in today 
to tell you of my own happiness, but it seems beastly selfish to 
mention it. 

Rob. What! Has Dorothy really consented at last ? 

Phil. She has. Congratulate me. 

Rob. {Shaking his hand.) I do, old fellow, from the bottom of 
my heart. But you deserve it. 


58 


A TRAIRIE ROSE. 


Phil. Thanks, Rob. I—ah! somebody’s coming. 

Enter Rose and Agnes* L., Phil goes K. quietly and puts on coat. 
Rose leads Agnes to cot. Soft music to end.) Here be yer wife, 
Rob. 

Rob. Agnes—you ? 

Agnes. Yes, Robert, it is, indeed 1—Agnes, your erring wife. 
Can you ever forgive me for the sorrow I have caused you, and 
give me a chance to make up for it all? 

Rob' ril try, Agnes. 

Agnes. {Kneels.) O Robert, thank you! 

Rob. No, Agnes, don’t thank me. Rather thank this little girl 
who has brought about this reconciliation, for but for her it could 
never have come to pass. Agnes, it is for her sake, and because 
it will make her a little happier, that I mean to strive earnestly to 
do my whole duty to you, as she has made me see it. Do you 
understand? 

Agnes. You do not love me, Robert? 

Rob. Not as much as I should, Agnes,- Ell admit that; but I’m 
going to try hard to learn. Is that enough? 

Agnes. Not exactly enough, Robert—no—but, O so much better 
than I deserve. (Rose starts R.) ' ■ 

Rob. Rose, are you leaving us? 

Rose. {Walks back to cot, across from Agnes.) Yes, Rob. It’s 
better that way. Ye ain’t a-needin’ Rose any more now. 

Agnes. {Rises.) Ah, Miss Wilder, don’t say that! You have 
acted the part of God’s good angel to us—to me—and I will always 
love and pray for you. {They shake hands across Rob.) 

Rose. Thank ye, mdm. But I ain’t no angel, and hain’t never had 
no hankerin’ along that line o’ business. I jest wanter grow inter 
a woman—a real live good-fer-somethin’ woman—that’s enough fer 
me. But thank yer fer sayin’ it, all the samey, and I be a-needin’ 
them prayers ye speak of more’n ye knoW. Rob, ye will be good to 
her, won’t ye? (Agnes kneels again.) 

Rob. I’ll try. 

Rose. An’ yer won’t—fergit—me—will yer—Rob? 

Rob. {Reproachfully.) Rose! 

Enter Ralph, R. Stands in door. 

Rose. O I know ye won’t, Rob, but I feel so kinder lonesome- 
like jest now—and—it be awful tough, Rob—jest awful tough! 

Rob. Tough! No one knows— 

Ralph. {Softly.) Are you ready. Rose? 

Rose. Yes, dad. I’m ready. {Starts to him.) O dad, ye must be 
jest awful kind ter yer leetle gal now, ’cause she ain’t got Jiothin’ 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


59 


ner nobody left but jest you! {He takes her in his arms and she 
lays her head upon his shoulder, sobbing.) 

Ralph. My poor little girl I 

QUICK CURTAIN. 


Act IV. 

Scene: Home of Phil and Dorothy four years later. Doors 
R., L. and C.. Stage set as per diagram. Hall tree outside C. D. 
Lunch table laid for three. 

Rose, Ralph and Dorothy seated about it, Ralph R., Rose L. 
and Dorothy C. 

Ralph. Just about half a cup more, Mrs. Bryant, and then I 
really must be off. This indulging in “the cup that cheers but not r 
inebriates” will make an old woman of me, if I am not careful. 
Besides, I have a dozen different things demanding my immediate 
attention. (Dorothy takes cup and goes to stand with chafing dish 
and pours tea. Returns, hands him cream and sugar, conversation 
uninterrupted.) 

Dorothy. Only a dozen, Mr. Wilder? Are Rose and I included 
in that enumeration? 

Rose. O papa thinks we’re always demanding attention. Don’t 
you, papa? 

Ralph. Certainly. You couldn’t be women unless you were. 

Rose. Just listen to that, Dorothy. How shall we get even with 
him? 

Dorothy. If I were you I know what I’d do. I’d get married 
and leave him all alone. I think he’d be sorry then. 

Rose. Married? No, Dorothy—not I. 

Ralph. Rose wouldn’t be so cruel, Mrs. Bryant. (Rises.) I want 
above everything else, of course, to see her happy; but you’d better 
believe I’m in no hurry to part with her. 

Dorothy. But that’s abominably selfish, Mr. Wilder. Haven’t you 
had her all to yourself now for four long years? 

Ralph. Four years? Yes. But you know the greater part of all 
that time has been given to her studies, so that really, Mrs. Bryant, 

I haven’t had such a monopoly of her company after all. You have 
no idea what a wise little girl she is now. (Crosses in front of 
table to Rose. Dorothy and Rose rise. Dorothy rings bell on 
table. Ralph goes to hall tree for overcoat and hat.) 

Rose. (Goes toward him.) Don’t, papa. I don’t want to get into 
Dorothy’s black book. She doesn’t like blue stockings. 



60 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


Dorothy. {Lifting dress to display hOiSe .) No, never wear them. 
But I’m very fond of Rose, Mr. Wilder, and I don’t care what she 
packs into her pretty little head. 

Ralph. (At hall tree.) Well, neither do I. (Pats Rose’s head. 
Then looks at watch, showing time to Rose.) But, ladies, if I am 
to present myself at your reception in due form, properly labeled 
and tagged, I really must tear myself away now. If you can recon¬ 
cile yourselves to my absence, and be happy without me, good-bye. 

Rose. Good-bye, papa. (Dorothy and Ralph exchange hows.) 
Don’t worry about us. i(Exit Ralph.) Dear papad He is deter¬ 
mined to spoil me. You can’t imagine what good comrades we are, 
Dorothy. (Sits on sofa.) 

Mose enters C. 

Mose. Did yo’ done ring. Missus? 

Dorothy. Yes, Mose. Remove the tea things. (Sits on sofa with 
Rose.) 

Mose. Yes, Missus. (Moves table to R., plays with cups, piling 
them up in absurd style, drinking from them, etc., introducing any 
comicalities that suggest themselves to make fun for the audience. 
Watches Dorothy closely during the following conversation, dodg¬ 
ing every time she turns head.) 

Dorothy. I do wish Phil would come. I was hoping he would 
get in early, we’re expecting such a crowd. (Sighs and looks down^ 
zuith worried expression, then off right and sighs again.) Never 
marry a professional man, Rose, if you have any desire to be 
* supreme in your husband’s life. I find Phil’s office a most formid¬ 
able rival. (Mose, behind her back, raises a cup to his lips.) Put 
down that cup, Mose! 

Mose. (Astounded, eyes her in amazement.) I golly! Missus 
must hab eyes in de back o’ her head. (Walks slyly to her, as if 
looking for the ''eyes’’.) 

Rose. It is so sweet of you, Dorothy, to have papa and I here on 
your anniversary. I used to hear so much about you when Phil 
was in the West before your marriage, and how I did wish that I 
were of your sort. But of course I had no thought or hope of ever 
knowing you. 

Dorothy. Poor girl! You had— 

Mose. (Has been piling up the cups again and they now fall zvith 
loud crash.) Missus Bryant, I just can’t make dese heah cups 
behave nohow. Dey am mighty pa’tic’lar how dey am moved, it' 
’pears to me. 

Dorothy. (Rising.) Move those things instantly, Mose! 

Mose. (Frightened.) Yessum! Yessum! I’se a-doin’ it. Missus, 
’deed an’ I is. (Hurries them off in great fright.) 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


61 


Dorothy, (Watches him sternly until he exits. Then turns to 
Rose.) Rose, if you’ll excuse me for a little while, I think I had 
better make sure that everything is properly arranged for the re¬ 
ception of our guests. 

. Rose. Certainly, Dorothy. You musn’t make a stranger of me, 
you know. I think I’ll go into the library and read awhile. (Dor¬ 
othy exits L. Rose starts R., is about to exit R., when —) 

Bill enters L. 

Bill. Wall, PIl be gun-swizzled, Rosie, be that really you? 

Rose. (Turning eagerly and running to meet him with outstretched 
hands.) Why, Bill! What a delightful surprise! 

Bill, (Hiding his face with both hands and turning head away 
from her.) Excuse me. Rose. I didn’t mean to come afore ye got 
yer clo’es on. 

Rose. (In astonishment.) Why, what do you mean? (Looks 
down at dress, then smiles.) Why, Bill, this is evening dress. 

Bill. Evenin’ dress! (Looks at her shyly from behind hand.) 

I s’pose that means night dress. 

Rose. (A trifle haughtily.) Well, hardly. Bill. (He takes hands 
from face, but still avoids looking at her', looking away quickly 
whenever he happens to glance that way.) But do tell me how they 
all are out on the dear old ranch ! 

Bill. Well, Rose, since your Uncle Sile and Lizy Jane Slocum 
got hitched up in double harness, I don’t much reckon the old man’s 
very happy. I tell you, she makes him toe the mark. 

Rose. Poor Uncle Sile! He certainly deserves to be happy if , 
anybody does. 

Bill. Wall, Rose, from what I’ve seen o’ this here world, people 
ain’t always a-gittin’ what they desarve, not by a long shot. 

Rose. That’s true enough. Bill. (Pauses, looks down sadly, while 
he watches her curiously.) 

Bill. (After a pause.) Ye ain’t a-gittin’ homesick, be ye. Rose? 

Rose. Homesick? No—o—o—o. But, O Bill, Don’t you remem¬ 
ber how we used to ride bareback, you and I, over the wide open 
prairie, our heads uncovered to the glory of the summer sun, and 
our hearts open to all the wonderful loveliness of the world—the 
world that we knew with its wide open spaces, its vast, unbounded 
magnificence, its almost divine grandeur? (Pauses, gating off into 
space as if enraptured, hands clasped over heart.) 

Bill. (Staring at her.) Y—a—a—a—a—s! I ’member, I—guess 
so. (Dazed.) 

Rose. Bill, where do we find that in Chicago’s stuffy little cor¬ 
ners? It’s all very well for the people who are born to it, and who 


62 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


have seen nothing else; but, O Bill, think! They expect me to 
canter sedately through their little walled-in parks—I who have 
ridden all day long where the sky over me and the plain under me 
were larger than all Chicago! They expect me to sit down in their 
, painted little drawing-rooms and lisp commonplace nothings to their 
dressed-up wax dolls—I who have learned the real meaning of life 
by watching the throbbing of human hearts beneath so many cow¬ 
boys’ rough flannels ! They expect me to be happy in their crowded 
streets and alleys—I who have watched the sun rise over half a 
world, and felt my very soul going forth to face its Maker! This 
is only a mimic show, Bill! It isn’t life! 

Bill. (Still open-mouthed with amazement.) But yer pa’s got 
jest dead loads o’ money, aii^t he. Rose? 

Rose. Money! Don’t talk to me of money! Bill, I haven’t for¬ 
gotten how it feels when a steer takes the slack of the rope, and 
your bronco sits back. Where in Chicago can I buy that? I know 
the rising and falling of days, and the boundless space where your 
heart grows big, under such a sun as Chicago never dreamed of, 
Bill—a sun that shines and fairly fills the sky, and warms the wind 
that blows fresh from the wide places that God first conceived for 
men and women to grow big in. Where could I buy that. Bill, with 
ten times ten millions of that stuff that this artificial, gold-mad 
world calls money? 

Bill. By gosh! Rosie, but they jest have lamed ye ter make a 
big “spiel,” ain’t they now? Why, yer a regular cracker-jack. 
Sounds jest like a female woman that made a big temperance spoche 
.at Ratsville onct. Ye do for a fact, Rosie I 

Rose. (Catches sight of the wonder and admiration on his face 
and recollects herself, laughing merrily.) Pardon me. Bill. I don’t 
often forget myself like that, but the sight of you has actually made 
me hunger and thirst for the clatter and clamor of the round-up. 
But come into the library where we can be undisturbed for awhile. 
I’ve so much to talk to you about, and it seems so good to see you 
again. 

Bill. Does it, really. Rose? That’s bully! (All this time he has 
tried not to look at her, being greatly embarrassed by her evening 
attire. She now takes his arm, leading him off R. He dodges and 
turns head away from her sheepishly, keeping it carefully averted 
while they exit R.) 

Phil enters L. 

Phil. (Looks all around, carrying hat. Places hat on hall tree, 
then advances toward fireplace, looking over paper. Warms his 
hands at hreplace.) It seems a little cold outside tonight, but I hope 
none of our guests will disappoint us. (Sits on sofa, reading paper.) 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


63 


Dorothy enters hastily, L. 

Dorothy. Phil! You are here at last, are you? I’ve been looking 
for you for an hour. 

Phil. Have you, my dear? (Rises and goes to meet her. She 
draws baek.) Don’t be cross. (Bends to kiss her, but she turns 
away just in time to reeeive a loud sniaek behind the ear.) Well, 
now, that is what I call getting it in the neck. Why, Dorothy, I 
just heard of a man whose wife left him for less than that. 

Dorothy. (Who has gradually edged away towar(^ the door, but 
now turns baek with some show of interest.) For—what? 

Phil. He insisted upon kissing her upon the street. Now, what .. 
do you know about that? 

Dorothy. Well, why not, if he wanted to? Didn’t she like it? 

Phil. (Shakes head silently. Then, after a pause.) She preferred, 
she said, to be kissed upon the lips. 

Dorothy. (In disgust.) O dear me! (Walks baek to C. entrance, 
while Phil turns to faee front, with hands in poekets, whistiing 
indifferently. At entranee she turns back, watching him over shoul¬ 
der, then turns to face hint with rising indignation, walking back 
haughtily.) Phil! (He continues to whistle.) Philip! (Still 
whistles.) Philip Bryant!! 

Phil. (Turning to faee her with a smile and speaking very 
pleasantly.) Did you speak, my dear? 

Dorothy. (With fine scorn.) I did!’ (He pauses expectantly.) 
Where have you been so long? (No answer. He is busy tracing 
some pattern in the carpet and does not seem to hear.) Now, don’t 
say, “At the club,” for I know what that means. (Pauses, but 
though he looks up at her from under brows, he does not reply. 
She takes this as proof conclusive of his guilt, and her voice raises 
from its tentative tone to an indignant one.) I just knew it was 
bound to happen sometime. All married men catch it, sooner or 
later. But—I didn’t expect it to happen on our anniversary! 
(Pauses again. Still no answer) Where—have—you—been? 

Phil. (Calmly.) At the office, my dear. 

Dorothy. “At the office, my dear!” Alone? 

Phil. (Affecting embarrassment and hesitancy.) Why, my type¬ 
writer was there. 

Dorothy. (Aside, in alarm.) His typewriter! (Aloud.) The one , 
you just bought that new ribbon for, I suppose! (He looks up 
quickly, suppressing a smile.) O I heard what you said to Mose 
about it! 

Phil. (Nodding mischievously.) Same one. Best I ever had. 
(She turns away in great irritation. He steps nearer her, smiling.) 


64 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


It was a very pretty ribbon. (She looks at him a little piteously, 
and then looks down as though about to cry, and he hastens to her.) 

A purple copying ribbon, Dorothy. (She still fails to understand.) 
And my typewriter’s a peach—of a Remington. (She suddenly un-~ 
derstands and looks up brightly.) Goose! (Chucks her under the 
chin, but she resents his teasing and steps away pettishly.) 

Dorothy. I don’t believe a word of it! 

Phil. A word of what? 

Dorothy. Of what you just now said. 

Phil. But I didn’t say anything. 

Dorothy. Well, it’s all the same. I don’t believe a word of what 
you would have said, if you had said anything. (Another pause. 
After a little.) Phil, why did you marry me? 

Phil. Why? Why, because—because —(looks at her closely, hesi¬ 
tating^ finally allows eyes to rest on hair) I liked your hair. 

Dorothy. (At first pleased, putting her hand to her hair and 
glancing toward mirror. Then catches his inference and pouts.) 
You never told me that before. 

Phil. (Amazed at the accusation.) Never said I liked your hair? 

Dorothy. Never said that was all! 

Phil. Didn’t say that now, did I? If I did—well, “Somebody lied.” 
(Looks critically at her.) You have fine eyes (she smiles) and very 
pretty teeth, when you smile at a fellow that way, and there never 
was such a beautiful neck (touching it), nor such superb shoulders 
(placing hands on them), nor such tiny feet (she sticks out foot * 
daintily), nor such a tempting arm (clasping her elbow), nor such— 
such —(he smiles, mischievously and she looks down bashfully, draw¬ 
ing her hands, which he has just taken, away from him, with a feint 
of attempting to escape.) Your new evening gown is a stunner. 
(She turns away, but now looks over shoulder at him and smiles.) 
And, by the way, so was the bill. (She looks away again, frown¬ 
ing.) And—well, just permit me to. assure you, Mrs. Bryant (bow¬ 
ing low with hand on heart, while she again turns and faces him), 
that 5^ou are perfectly dazzling tonight. I am— (pauses, putting hand 
to forehead) struck all in a heap! 

Dorothy. (In haughty displeasure.) That will do, Phil. I don’t 
wish to be laughed at. 

Phil. (Taking her fan and carelessly opening^and shutting it, 
while eyeing her closely.) Then don’t be silly, honey. 

Dorothy. Silly? (Looking at him a moment with grieved expres¬ 
sion. Then speaks impatiently.) Phil, stop! You are breaking my 
fan! Just as your—are—breaking my heart! 

Phil. Breaking your heart? Not guilty! (Then, dropping his 
teasing mood, he walks to her, laying his hand on her shoulder.) 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


65 


Look here, Dorothy, can you possibly be serious in this? Why, girl, 
you know what I married you for, and you know. (She looks at 
him for the first time and shakes head.) Yes, you know that I get 
prouder and fonder of you every day. Now, don’t you? • (Pulls 
her around to face him and takes her in his arms.) 

Dorothy. (Looks up slyly and plays with his coat lapel.) It’s 
silly, isn’t it, Phil, for married folks to quarrel? 

Phil, Ridiculous! 

Dorothy, We never quarrel, do we? 

Phil. (Astounded at the mere insinuation.) We quarrel? Should 
say not! 

Dorothy. (After a pause.) Say, Phil. 

Phil. Well? 

Dorothy. I don’t believe your wife would like to be kissed on 
the street, either. (He laughs softly and kisses her—in the proper 
place.) 

Phil. Now, we can— (hesitates and consults watch, frowns at the 
lateness of the hour) —well, come and sit down a minute, anyway. 
(He sits on sofa, she throzvs some pillows on floor.) 

Dorothy. Mother always said we had too many cushions, you 
and I.' But we just musn’t quarrel—ever, ever again! (Sits beside 
him.) ,I—like cushions—better than being—uncomfortable. 

Phil. I should say I By the way, Dorothy, whom do you think 
I saw this afternoon? 

Dorothy, I can’t imagine. I’m sure. Tell me. 

Phil. No less important an individual than Dr. Robert Raymond 
himself. 

Dorothy. You did? 

Phil. Yes, really. I could hardly believe it myself, though he 
hasn’t changed very much. He’s a widower this time, for sure. 
His wife has been dead over a year. He has been in -Philadelphia 
all this time, but returned to Chicago last week, and is preparing 
to go out West again and begin practicing there. I've persuaded 
him to come tonight and pay his respects to you. 

Dorothy. O Phil! Won’t Rose be happy? 

Phil. Think so? 

Dorothy. Think so? I know it! Did he ask anything about her? 
' Phil. Not a word, but I took pains to speak of her in a casual 
way. He evaded the subject by saying he would probably never see 
her again. He then went on and ran in a lot of nonsense about her 
being rich and he only a poor doctor, and all that rot. Bob’s too 
proud. 

Dorothy. And Rose loves him so dearly, too. But she’s as proud 


66 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


as he is. She never mentions his name, but I can see that she’s just 
breaking her heart about him. 

Phil, Well, I didn’t tell him she was here, and don’t you let her 
know he’s coming. We’ll just spring a surprise on them both. 

Dorothy. Capital! I am with you, Phil. But I must go now and 
see where she is. (Rises.) . ’’ 

Phil. And I must be dressing. (Rises, takes her arm and they 
exit C.) 

Mose enters C. in elaborate evening dress, crosses down L. 

Mose. ’Spects dis heah chile mus’ be general door tender an’ card 
snatcher. Golly! I feel starchy. (Twists his neck around in collar 
and hitches around in clothes.) 

Archie enters C. Mose keeps position at L. entrance. Archie 
hands card. Mose studies it attentively. 

Mose. F-e-a-t-h-e-r-h-e-a-d. Why, that spells—er—Feddahead; it 
do fo’ a fac’! (Eyes Archie closely, then grins broadly.) Why, 
Massa Feddahead, am dat you? 

Archie. Ah, Mose, it is, indeed, doncheknow. Gweat day this, 
’pon my word. 

Enter Rose, R., with book. Sits in chair, C. 

Archie. Ah, it is—Miss—ah—Miss Wildah, isn’t it, doncheknow? 
(Eyes her through monocle.) 

Mose. (Grinning.) ’Spect it am, Massa Feddahhead. I hain’t 
done heerd on her a-changin’ her name any. 

Archie. Well, beg pah don, Mose, doncheknow, but would you 
mind brushing some of this deucid dust off me? A girl was sweep¬ 
ing in,the hallway, and, doncheknow, I— 

Mose. (Interrupting.) O I’ll fix you up, boss, ’deed an’ I will. 
(Runs to hall, gets brush and brushes him with great force, first 
on one side and then on the other.) Turn aroun’, boss, an’ let me 
get at yo’ back. (Pounds his back soundly with brush. Archie 
winces and makes many wry faces, but bears it bravely.) Dar 
now! Whar-am yo’ comb? (Archie pulls out comb, brush and 
powder puff from his vest pocket and small mirror from another. He 
holds glass, watching his reflection, zvhile Mose brushes and combs 
his hair, powders his face, etc. Mose pulls out a snarl and Archie 
makes face. IV^ose then spits on his fingers and tzvists the ends of 
his moustache with them.) Let me look at yo’ fingers. (Works 
with nails a little. Archie dodges for fear of being cut with knife, 
ad lib.) Thar now! You’ll do. You’s lookin’ jest like one oh dem 
store men what dey fits clo’es on, ’deed yo’ am! 

Archie. (Takes out atomizer and perfumes clothes lavishly, then 
takes out book and reads.) “This beautiful sunshine”—“this beau- 


A’ PRAIRIE ROSE. 


67 


tiful sunshine”—“ this beautiful sunshine is flooding all my soul 
with its love-inspiring rays”—um—um—um—um—“will you be 
mine?” I guess I know that pretty well. {Takes another sly glance 
at mirror and readjusts a stray lock.) Yes, I’ll do. ’Pon my honoh, 
she ought to be impwessed—she had, indeed. (Advances to Rose, 
who is busy reading and has not seen him.) Miss—ah—Miss Wil- 
dah! (She does not hear and he clears throat and speaks louder.) 
Miss Wildah! 

Rose. (Drops hook and rises in surprise.) Why, Mr. Feather- 
head, is it really you? 

Archie. ’Pon my word. Miss Wildah, I believe it is, doncheknow. 
(Reads notebook.) 

Rose. (Extending hand.) I’m delighted to see you again. 

Archie. Are you, now, indeed? Stunning news that, doncheknow. 
(Aside.) Sounds encouraging—yes, awfully. 

Rose. (Bends to tie slipper.) O these slippers! I can never keep 
them tied. 

Archie. Won’t you—ah—permit me. Miss Wildah? 

Rose. Why, certainly, if you will be so kind. (Archie begins 
excited search around room, finally selecting a soft pillow, which 
he places before her, and then taking handkerchief from pocket 
spreads it also over pillow and then kneels very carefully upon it, 
to tie the strings, which he makes a great show of doing.) 

Archie. (Aside.) Now that I’ve got this far, here is my chance— 
it is, indeed! (Aloud, reciting rapidly in one tone as by rote.) Miss 
Wildah, these love-inspiring rays are flooding all my soul with this 
beautiful sunshine. (Takes her hand.) Maidenly beauty, your 
gentle face, your graceful smile, your musical form, your fas¬ 
cinating footsteps and your immaculate voice have got me won, and 
every beauty of your mind, every sigh of your heart, every thought 
of your soul, is for me and you alone! You cannot—no, you will 
not 'live without me ! The wilderness would be a dreary and bleak 
life without the smile of your glorious sunshine! Shall I be yours? 
(Caches in her face, still holding her hand in one of his, and her 
foot in the other.) 

Rose. (Laughing merrily.) Well done, Mr. Featherhead. Well - 
done. Are you rehearsing for private theatricals? 

Archie. (Rising and taking pillozv from"'floor, hugs it absent- 
mindedly.) Why, ’pon my word, Miss Wildah—I mean it—every 
word—I do, indeed ! 

Rose. (Surprised.) Not really? O Mr. Featherhead, this is so 
sudden! 

Archie. Sudden? Sudden, did you say? Why, Miss Wildah, I’ve 
been four years—really four years—rehearsing it! 


68 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


Rose. If you are serious, Mr. Featherhead, I am sorry for you— 
truly sorry, for I really couldn’t think of it at all. (He drops head 
and pillow and turns to go.) Wait! (He turns back brightly.) 
Shall I be a sister to you? 

Archie. (Shakes head dolefully.) Not any sister in mine! I 
don’t fancy that brand of sisters. Why, I’ve got dozens of them in 
this very town, doncheknow—I have, indeed, ’pon my word! (Walks 
to R. entrance with crestfallen air. At entrance turns back and 
holds out arms to her ijt appeal.) Miss Wildah! “This beautiful 
sunshine”— (She shakes head and he turns away again, speaking 
aside, while standing in door.) And he guaranteed it! All this study 
wasted! Beastly luck! (Exit C.) 

Rose. (Looking after him.) Poor foolish little fellow! (Sits 
sofa, picking up book again.) 

Dorothy enters with Phil, L. 

Dorothy. All alone. Rose? Why, where is Mr. Featherhead? 

Phil. And Bill? (They walk R.) 

Rose. O Bill is too taken up with the sights of the city just now 
for even my company. He says he’s “feared city posies has got too 
blamed much stink-’m on ’em for his prairie-fed nose.” (They 
laugh at her imitation.) 

Dorothy. And Archie? 

Rose. Why,—er—Mr. Featherhead is—is—in the library, I believe. 
(Emb arras ed.) 

Phil. Did you send him adrift. Rose? 

Rose. I’m afraid I did, Phil. I had to. But I’m sorry for him. 

Phil. So am I. Poor chap 1 

Enter Ralph, Sila^ and Lizy, C. They are loaded down with 
old-fashioned bandboxes, grips, carpet-bags and bundles, which they 
drop several times, contriving to have some of them Uy open. Ralph 
is assisting them politely and kindly. From one grip drops an old 
pair of corsets and a red flannel night gown. Ralph picks up the 
corsets and Silas the gown, both holding their finds up for inspec¬ 
tion. Lizy grabs both in horror and stuffs them back into the 
grip. 

Silas. (As he enters, astonished at the elegance of the room and 
looking all around with wide open eyes and mouth.) Great snakes 
and little wigglers! 

Lizy. (At same time in same way.) Goodness gracious sakes 
alive! 

Silas. Bust my galluses, Lizy Jane, but here be our Rosie! (At 
sight of Rose they drop everything at once and rush toward her.) 

Rose. O Uncle Silas! 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


69 


Silas. (^Embracing her.) Yer ain’t quite fergit the old man, 
have yer? 

Rose. Well, I guess not, nor you. Aunt Eliza, either. (Lizy 
straightens up proudly at the new name and keeps nodding head 
vainly.) How glad I am to see you both! {Talks to both in dumb 
show, helping them put all their things in one pile, while Ralph 
crosses to Phil.) 

Phil. (Raising eyebrows significantly.) And they came! 

Ralph. (Smiling.) They did. Bag and baggage. I met them at 
the Northwestern and have been showing them the sights of the city 
along the way. (All smile.) 

Dorothy. Dear honest old souls! It is refreshing, once in a while, 
to come into contact with these genuine diamonds in the rough. 
(Crosses to Silas.) Charmed to see you, Mr. Wilder. 

Silas. (Taking her hand gingerly, as if afraid of breaking it.) 
Yes, mom I I think so myself I 

Dorothy. And you, Mrs. Wilder. (Phil crosses and shakes 
hands with Silas, while she greets Lizy.) It is a, delight to welcome 
you here, and we hope you’ll have a perfectly splendid time. 

Lizy. Thank ye. I’m sure we will. 

Dorothy. And I want you both to make yourselves perfectly at 
home. 

Lizy. We’ll just do that, won’t we, Silas? 

Silas. Hey? (Lizy nods to him emphatically.) Yes, yes! You 
bet! Of course! 

Rose. Now, just sit down here on this sofa and tell me how 
everybody is, and—O just everything about the dear old ranch! 
(Silas and Lizy sit on sofa, with Rose between them. Both talk to¬ 
gether, loud and fast, each apparently trying to run the other down. 
Rose turns to first one and then the other, trying to hear both sides. 
Ralph joins Phil and Dorothy and they converse in dumb show, 
Ralph apparently telling some anecdotes of their ride up from the 
station, at which they all seem much amused, casting many merry 
glances at the old couple.) 

Silas. O nothin’ ain’t changed much! I traded one o’ my bronchos 
to Bill fer that Hank o’ hissen, he useter ride so much, an’ we got 
two hundred an’ fifty new steers o’ Chris Johnson, an’ Pete Long 
’n’ me swapped hogs an’ I got it in the neck, an’ I’ve put a new 
condition onter the shed ter make a new kitchen an’ bedroom, an’ 
Dave Spindle, that did the nailin’ up of it, he’s took newmorny, an’ 
they say as how it’s struck in on him, an’ he ain’t a-goin’ ter 
pull through nohow, an’ Miss Spindle, she— 

Lizy. (At same time.) O we be a-gittin’ erlong fust rate. We’ve 
got another cow puncher from Ratsville—ust ter be on the Bar-X 


70 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


Ranch—an’ he ain’t no good at all, but there be enough help with¬ 
out him buttin’ in, anyhow, an’ sence yer Uncle Sile put on the new 
kitchen, the shack be lots convenienter, and ’tain’t nigh so hard 
ter keep things did up. I tell ye, I jest made things spruce up a 
heap arter me’n yer Uncle Sile got married, fer you know how 
things all got ter goin’ at sixes and sevens. Miss Spindle, she— 
(Rose jumps up laughing, her fingers in her ears.) 

Silas. {Jumps up angrily, turning on Lizy, who also jumps up 
and faces him.) Now, look a here, Lizy Jane, can’t yer stop yer 
clack an’ let a feller git a blamed word in edgeways? 

Lizy. Ye needn’t keep yer tongue a-runnin’ like an old buzz-saw, 
Silas Wilder—everybody ain’t as deef as a post, if you be! 

Rose. (Gets between them.) O bless your hearts! Neither of 
you says one word too much, but how can I hear what you say 
unless you are willing to talk one at a time? 

Dorothy. {Comes down.) Wouldn’t you like to go to your rooms 
now? 

. Silas. Hey? 

Dorothy. Wouldn’t you like to go to your room? 

Silas. Say, mom, just try it agin. 

Dorothy. Wouldn’t you like to retire to your room? 

Silas. (Still doesn’t understand, but looks at Lizy, who nods at 
him emphatically.) I guess so—fine! O you bet! 

Dorothy. (Calls.) Mose! 

Mose. Yes, Missus! 

Dorothy. Take Mr. Wilder and his luggage to one of the west 
rooms. I myself will go up with Mrs. Wilder. (Business of getting 
up the luggage. Mose makes great fun^ constantly dropping some¬ 
thing, having to stuff things back, etc. Silas reluctant to allow 
Mose to carry his things, and insisting upon carrying some of them 
himself. They exit L. Dorothy and Lizy start C., but Dorothy 
crosses to speak to Phil, leaving Lizy alone at C. She beckons 
Rose to her.) 

Lizy. (Aside to Rose, as she approaches.) How purty ye be 
a-lookin’, Rosie! (Outlines with her fingers the edge of Rose’s 
bodice.) What do ye call that air contraption ye got on yerself? 

Rose. (Puzzled.) This dress? (Lizy nods.) Why, this is even¬ 
ing 'dress. Do you like it? ' 

Lizy. Land yes! Say, ye ain’t got no extra one I could wear, 
have ye? 

Rose. Why, I have several, auntie, but I hardly think mine would 
fit you. Dorothy will be glad to loan i you one, though. 

Lizy. (Frightened, pointing to Dorothy.) Her? Lawsy! I ain’t 
a-goin’ ter ask her! 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


71 


Rose. But I will, auntie. (Calls.) Dorothy! (Dorothy crosses 
to them. In dumb show Rose requests the favor for Lizy, who acts 
embarrassed, and Dorothy willingly consents, after which Lizy acts 
delighted. Dorothy and Lizy exit C. Rose walks down to sofa 
and sits.) 

Ralph. (To Phil.) Rose is happier today than I have seen her 
for a long time. 

Phil. Yes, she lived with those old people so long that it is 
natural that she should be greatly attached to them. 

Ralph. (Goes behind sofa, taking Rose's hand in both his.) Has 
this made my littte girl homesick? 

Rose. No, papa, I don’t think so. Not really. But very, very 
happy. (They hold positions, conversing in dumb show.) 

Mose enters C., followed by Rob. 

Mose. (Bozving lozv.) Dr. Raymond! (Stands at L. of C. D. 
till Rob is well on stage, then exits C.) 

Phil. (Shaking hands heartily.) Well, Rob, old man,-it is great 
to see you again in the land of the living. 

Rob. Thanks, Phil. It does me no end of good to see you, too, 
and to know you are so happy. 

Enter Dorothy, C. Offers hand. 

Rob. And Mrs. Bryant, too. This is a great pleasure, I assure 
you. 

Dorothy, A fish story. Doctor. If you had really wanted to see 
us, why hadn’t you looked us up? But you must meet,my friend. 
(Calls.) Rose! (Rose looks back over shoulder.) Come here and 
meet my old friend. (Rose rises and turns courteously, still talking 
to her father.) 

Rob. Merciful heavens! It is Rose! God grant me strength to 
meet her as the stranger she must always be to me! 

Rose. (Walking slowly to them on her father’s armO O I’ll 
have to admit, papa, that I do sometimes miss a little the wilder¬ 
ness and freshness of the old days on the prairie. But I’ve learned 
to love you so dearly, and you’ve stripped the thorns so carefully 
from your insignficant wild rose that — (sees Rob.) Dr. Raymond! 

Rob. (Bowing low over her hand.) Miss Wilder. 

Rose, (Aside.) “Miss Wilder” indeed! (Aloud, slowly and with 
difficulty.) This is indeed an unexpected pleasure. /And here is 
papa. Surely you remember papa? 

Rob. (As they shake hands.) I am pleased to meet you again, 
Mr. Wilder. 

Ralph. And I you. I am always glad to meet anyone who was 


72 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


kind to my little girl—when I was not. {Bows and exits C. with 
parting pat on Rose's shoulder.) 

Rose. {At a loss for something to say, speaks, after a pause.) 
Is—is—is Mrs. Raymond with you? 

Rob. No. 

Rose. She is in —? {Pauses, inquiringly.) 

Rob, She has not been with me for over a year. 

Rose. {Amaced and shocked.) Separated— again? 

Rob. Yes, Miss Wilder, stolen away by a most merciless rival— 

Rose. {Shocked.) What? 

Rob, Death. {She looks up quickly, with sudden comprehension, 
hut he turns to Phil, and the two men walk down L. front.) By 
the way, Phil, that gentleman we were talking to today informs me 
that you are becoming quite famous in the world of law. 

Phil. Nonsense, Rob, all nonsense, I assure you. I only try to 
do my duty by my fellow-men; that’s all. But tell me of your life, 
Bob. 

Rob. Not much to tell, Phil. Life has been as colorless and as 
joyless as possible. You know I removed to Philadelphia as soon 
as I was discharged from the hospital, and I’ve been practicing 
there ever since. But lately I’ve had such a yearning for the free¬ 
dom of the West that I’m going to hang up my shingle in some 
little prairie town, and see if I can find some new interest and 
incentive where the western breezes blow. {They continue to con¬ 
verse in dumb show.) 

Rose. {Up R.) Dorothy, Rob treats me like a perfect stranger. 
He has entirely forgotten me. 

Dorothy. O Rose! How mistaken you are! As if any man could 
do that. You must remember that he is a comparatively poor man, 
while you are now a very wealthy young lady. 

Rose. What difference does that make? 

Dorothy. All the difference in the world to a man as proud as 
Dr. Raymond. 

Rose. And does he dare to think so meanly of me as that? Does 
he imagine that such a love as mine could be bought with gold, or 
that I can tear it from my heart because I have become the pos¬ 
sessor of a few more worthless pennies? Ah, Dorothy, doesn’t 
he 'know that all the wealth of the Indus could not change my 
heart? But are you sure that is all that makes this change in him? 

Dorothy. Positive! He was talking of it to Phil this very 
afternoon. 

Rose. Then— {pause) —excuse me, please, for a little while. 

Dorothy. You will come back? 

Rose. O yes, I will come back. {Starts C. Dorothy starts to 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


73 


folloiv.) No, please do not follow me, Dorothy. I must be alone. 
{Exits C.) 

Dorothy. {Walks down befzveen Phil and Rob and pushes her 
arm through Rob^s, smiling up into his face.) It seems so good to 
see you back in the city again, Bob. I may share Phil’s pet name 
for you, mayn’t I? 

Rob. You know I’ll be delighted to have you, Mrs. Bry— 

Dorothy. Dorothy, please. Surely Phil’s wife ought to be a sort 
of sister to you and I assure you that while all my husband’s 
friends have a very big, warm place in my heart, yours is the 
biggest and warmest of them all. 

Rob. {Taking her hand and smiling across at Phil.) I hope you 
don’t object to all this, Phil. I assure you, I don’t. 

Phil. Not I Bob. I bought my typewriter a ribbon last week— 
a pretty, purple—• 

Dorothy. {Turns to him quickly and lays hand across mouth.) 
No family skeletons aired tonight, Phil. 

Phil. Mum’s the word. Only— 

Dorothy. {Turning her hack on him squarely and laying her 
hand on Rob’s arm again.) But, Rob, I feel like being a real sister 
and scolding you as soundly as you deserve. Why did you treat 
my little friend so shabbily? 

Rob. Shabbily, Dorothy! Was I not courteous? 

Dorothy. Barely so. And she has run away to cry about it. 

Rob. You must surely be mistaken, Dorothy. She was such a 
little girl when we parted that she must have forgotten me by 
this time in the more congenial companionship of her aristocratic 
friends. 

Phil. {Lays hand on Rob’s shoulder.) O Rob! How little you 
know her if you think that. 

Rob. Do you mean that you think she still cares for me, Phil? 

Dorothy. Bob, I am sure of it. {Music off R.) But listen to 
the music. Our guests will be thinking us unpardonably remiss in 
courtesy, Phil. {Takes his arm and they start off R.) 

Phil. {Looking back.) Come, Rob—won’t you? 

Rob. {Shakes head sadly.) Not now, Phil. Bye-and-bye, per¬ 
haps. {Watches them off, then muses silently aivhile, at last talking 
through music.) How changed she is! I do not seem to know 
this Rose at all. And the barriers between us seem greater and 
stronger than ever. O, if she only knew how my arms have all 
these years been aching to clasp her—how my lips have thirsted 
for hers! But now I can never, never tell her! Money is the curse 
of more than one life,, and now its blight has fallen even upon our 
love! O, Rose! O, Rose! Why cannot I go back to the old ranch in 


74 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


Montana and find the same little wild flower T once left hidden 
there! {Stands silently again till music ceases, then walks out C.) 

Silas enters R. with Ralph. 

Silas. I can’t tell ye, Ralph, how I miss leetle Rosie. {They sit.) 
She is fillin’ your fine home with sunshine it didn’t seem to need, 
but she’s a-leavin’ our old shack as dark as a hole in the ground. 

Ralph. But you have your wife. 

Silas. Hey? • 

Ralph. You have your wife! 

Silas. All my life? Yes—that’s what I mean. 

Ralph. No, no! You have— 

Lizy. - (Oi/t R.) Silas! Silas! 

Ralph. (Smiling.) There! That’s what you have! 

Silas, {Who has heard nothing.) I s’pose, of course, she’s a 
blamed sight happier off here with you, but I done the best I 
knowed by her. 

Lizy. {Out R.) Silas, whar be yer? 

Ralph. Eliza Jane is calling you. 

Silas. {Sighs resignedly.) I suppose so. , 

Lizy enters R. 

Lizy. {During the follozmng dialogue Silas doesn’t hear one 
word. Every time she pauses for a reply, he looks puzzled until 
she tells him what to say, then his face lights up and he answers 
just as she motions.) O here ye be. I’ve be’n a-callin’ an’ a-callin’ 
an a-callin’! I knowed he’d be a-missin’ me powerful! Silas can’t 
stand it ter be away from me a minute, can yer, Silas? {Shakes 
head at him.) 

Silas. {Emphatically.) No! 

Lizy, He fairly worships me, Silas does, and I jest wanter tell 
ye that we’re as well hitched up and chipperin’ as any young pair 
ye ever seed! Ain’t we, Silas? 

Silas. Yes! 

Lizy. Of course we miss Rosie, or did at fust, but sence we 
got spliced we’ve be’n so sot on each other that we hain’t thought 
on it much. Have we, Silas? 

Silas. No! 

Lizy. Don’t I look swell in this rig? (Turns around for inspec¬ 
tion.) And ain’t I spry? (Dances.) 

Silas. (Jumping and catching her.) Swing yer partners! Bal¬ 
ance all! 

Lizy. Do behave, Silas! (Pauses for breath and pushes Silas 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


75 


back into a chair.) Just as young and—lively, and— 
(gasps) —sweet as Rosie—ain’t I, Silas? (Nods to hi}n.) 

Silas. Yes. 

Lizy. (Stands still a inonicnt, witPi hands on hips, breathing 
hard. Then —) Well, I promised Mrs. Piryant I’d be right back in 
the liberry, so I ’spect she’s ’lottin’ on it. Ye mustn’t git too lone¬ 
some-like without me, Silas! Ye won’t, will ye? (Nods to him.) 

Silas. Yes. 

Lizy. Well, I’m sorry, but I’ll come back soon’s I can. 
(Exit R.) 

Silas. Thank the Lord—a breathin’ spell I 

Ralph. (Rising and laughing.) Well, let’s improve it by trying 
a game of billiards. 

Silas. (Following him out C.) I can beat ye, if ye be a youngster. 

Bill enters L. 

Bill. Jerusalem ginger crackers! That gal beats seventeen in a 
row! Why, she ain’t our “Prairie Rose” a bit now! She may be 
jest as sweet, but hanged if I want ter git pricked tryin’ to git her 
off the bush! Thorns an’ stink-’em—ugh! Not for mine! (Starts 
off L. just as Rob enters C.) 

Rob. Bill Briggs! (At C.) 

Bill. (At L.) Wall, I’ll be darned! Doc Raymond! Doc, I hope 
yer ain’t a-layin’ nothin’ up agin me ’count o’ old scores? Yer see, 
I made a mistake. I thought ye’d forsooken leetle Rosie, ye know, 
an’ I jest couldn’t stan’ fer any sech deviltry nohow, but I lamed 
jest how it was, later on, ye know, an’ now, if ye can jest manage 
ter overlook my roughness. I’ll be blamed proud ter wiggle yer 
paw. 

Rob. That is all right. Bill. I understand, and don’t know as I 
blame you a bit. Perhaps in the same circumstances I might have 
done much the same thing. I’m sure I’d have felt enough like it. 
Forget it. 

Bill. (Grasping his hand.) Put it there! I’m off now to the 
pictures that move—m'ove—move—and the gals that dance wearin’ 
just a few more clothes than Eve handed down to ’em! O my I 
(Laughs.) So long! (Exits L.) 

Rob. (Walks to sofa.) I see it all now. Bill’s faithful heart is 
to have the reward for its long waiting at last. I remember she 
once told me he had “a heart as big’s his carcase,” and, of course, 
he deserves to win her. for he doubtless is more deserving than I 
ever was—only—O Rose ! (Sits on sofa, ivrapped in sad thoughts as—) 

Rose enters. She eyes him curiously a moment, gathering courage 
to speak, then walks toward him. 


76 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


Rose. Dr. Raymond. 

Rob. (Starts up as if to rise eagerly, then recollects and resumes 
pose.) Yes, Miss Wilder. * 

Rose. (Aside — imitates.) “Yes, Miss Wilder.” “Yes, Miss Wil¬ 
der.” Sounds very much as if he were just dying for love of me, 
I’m sure. (Hesitates, looking at him in perplexity, then speaks 
aloud.) Are—are—you—not feeling well, Dr. Raymond? 

Rob. Very well, thank you. Miss Wilder. 

Rose. (Makes wry face. Walks hack and forth. Speaks aside.) 
Well, I can’t think of any more clever remarks. I’m sure. If he 
only would look up. (Aloud.) You have just returned to Chicago, 
did you say. Dr. Raymond? 

Rob. Yes. Last week. 

Rose. (Aside — sighing.) That subject seems about exhausted. 
It’s evident that he doesn’t even like to talk to me now. I’ll just 
leave him to the solitude he seems to crave. (Starts C., pauses and 
looks back over shoulder.) No, I can’t! (Walks slowly hack.) 
I’ll try one thing more. The old dare-devil spirit of the prairies 
is racing like widflre through all my veins tonight, and I’m mad 
enough for any feat of daring! He shall look at me! (Walks 
tozvard him, speaks in old dialect. Doc—Rob! 

Rob. (Springs up and faces her impetuously.) Rose—Prairie 
Rose—what does this mean ? 

Rose. (Looking down bashfully, twisting dress in her old childish 
way.) It means— (hesitates, then looks up archly, speaking mis¬ 
chievously.) “I jest think you’ve got the purtiest eyes!” There, now! 

Rob. Rose, do you mean it? (She looks down, nodding bash¬ 
fully.) Do you mean that you—but no, no! (Turns away, she 
watching under eyebrows. Then he turns to her again, speaking 
softly.) Rose, what do they say to you? 

Rose. (Watching his eyes and repeating, as if reading.) “You 
see, when two people, like you and me, for instance—like one an¬ 
other very much—-better than anybody else, you know—and feel 
that they belong just to each other—that is- Love!” Rob, they say 
to me—just that! 

Rob. (Puts hands on her shoulders, looking into her eyes.) 
And yours, Rose—yours! They say to me— (Looks Jozvn, strug¬ 
gling with himself.) 

Rose. (Coqueftishly.) Well— what? 

Rob. (Taking her suddenly in his arms.) This! 

Phil enters R and Dorothy L., simultaneously, see situation and 
smile. 

Phil. (Holding out arms to her.) Dorothy! 


A PRAIRIE ROSE. 


77 


Dorothy. (Happily dancing to him.) Phil! 

Silas enters R., listens a moment, bewildered, then starts to 
Rose, hand back of ear. 

' Silas, Louder, please! 

Lizy enters L., drags Silas off by ear, he making very wry face 
of pain. 

Archie enters with notebook, consults it, then looks at them and 
shakes head sadly. Bill enters R., nudges Archie gleefully, who 
shows offense. Mose enters C., sticks head between Archie and 
Bill and grins broadly. Ralph enters C., walks toward them, smil¬ 
ing approval. Silas and Lizy Jane re-enter C. and stick heads out, 
one on each side of Ralph, in curiosity. 

Lizy. Silas. 

N. 

Ralph. 

Phil and Dorothy, Archie, Mose and Bill. 

'Rose and Rob. 


CURTAIN. 



Indian Days 


r PRICt 50 CtNTS 


Book and Lyrics by T. L. SAPPINGTON and 
Music by HENRY B. VINCENT. 

A MUSICAL COMEDY. 

Price, 50 Cents 

5 Males, 2 females and chorus of Braves and 
Indian girls. Time, 1 hour. One exterior scene. 
Characters: Pocahontas McGuigan McGuire, an 
Irish widow and an Indian Queen. Singing 
Bird, a pretty Indian Princess. Frozen Face, 
a medicine man with a liking for Pocahontas. 
Eagle Plume and Purring Panther, war chiefs, 
both in love with Singing Bird. Two Warriors. 
Contains eight songs, both humorous and sen¬ 
timental: “Canoe Song,” “Pretty Forest Girl,” 
“Pocahontas McGuigan McGuire,” “The South 
Wind,” “Tell Me,” “The Medicine Man,” “Whist, 
Little Injun,” and “Finale.” The plot is clever 
and brimful of comedy. The lyrics are particularly well written 
and the music varied and lilting. “Tell Me,” sung by Singing 
Bird, will fairly carry one to the wildwood among the brooks and 
the forest birds, and its melody will long linger in one’s memory. 
Complete directions for staging, costumes, etc. Nothing better of 
its nature published and sure to please. 



STfOENISON iCOMPANY^O 
PUBLISHERS CHICAGO 


In Plum Valley 

By CHARLES ULRICH. 

Price, 25 Cents 

Rural comedy drama, 4 acts; 6 males, 4 females. Time, 2 % 
hours. Scenes: Easy to set. 1 interior, 2 exteriors. Characters: 
Uncle Jared Wilkins, a down-east farmer. Dr. Arthur Markham, 
a young physician. Hugh Elkins, an adventurer. Bill Stouter, 
who can’t stand high altitudes. Charlie Scott, a Plum Valley rus¬ 
tic, Ted Simpkins, a village constable. Hazel Wilkins, daughter 
of Uncle Jared. Aunt Lucinda Wilkins, wife of Uncle Jared. Sal- 
lie Brown, a romantic farm maid. Grace Stollard, a woman with 
a past. 

SYNOPSIS. 

Act I.—Scott declares his love for Sallie. “I’m going to marry 
a Count.” Elkins discloses his plans to Stouter. Jared and the 
calf. An awful cuss word. The accusation. Hazel spurns El¬ 
kins. The blow. “You’re true blue, by gravy!” 

Act II.—Jared tells the news. Elkins plays his trump card. 
Scott overhea,rs conversation. The advertisement incriminating 
Markham. Hazel confesses to her father. Markham tells his 
story. The arrest. 

Act III.—The picnic. The jollification. Markham’s innocence es¬ 
tablished. Grace meets Elkins. A cowardly blow. Jared’s an¬ 
swer to Elkins. “Go plumb to Jericho!” 

Act IV.—The letter. Grace acquitted. Her story of Elkin’s per¬ 
fidy, Jared defies dyspepsia, Elkins steals Hazel’s jewels. Stouter 
on the water wagon. Course of true love runs smoothly. 


T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 

154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO 






The Town Marshal 

By CHARLES ULRICH. 

Price, 25 Cents 

A comedy-drama of the rural northwest, 4 acts; 6 males, 3 
fernales. Time 2^/4 hours. Scenes: Easy to set. 2 interiors, 1 ex¬ 
terior. Characters: Harold Desmond, the town marshal. Mark 
Jamieson, a lawyer of evil tendencies. Uncle Jeb Jenkins, a South 
Dakota farmer. Willis Hartley, a wealthy grain dealer. William 
lorrence, a man with a past. Ikey Levinsky, a Jewish peddler. 
Laura Hartley, a village belle. Mary Ann Hartley, a spinster. 
Lucy Ames, a village hoyden. 

SYNOPSIS. 

Act I.—Lucy persecuted. Levinsky hears a joke. “You are 
a brave man, Mr. Desmond.” The plot. “He bears an assumed 
name!” “I am a man of honor. Farewell!” 

Act II.—Levinsky confides a secret to Jenkins. “I am a Jew 
und I never buys hogs on a Saturday.” The .cjuarrel. “My father 
is innocent, though a convict.” Jenkins courts Mary Ann. “I 
shall stand before you tomorrow without shame or I shall have 
ceased to live!” 

Act III.—Desmond recognizes his father. “Arrest me, my son, 
it is your duty!” “I shall do my duty and free yo\i!” A woman’s 
sori'ow'. “My heart is breaking!” 

Act IV.—Jenkins pulls Jamieson’s nose. “A new sassiety cuss 
word.” Laura sees light at last. “He assumed his father’s guilt 
to save him.” “My faith in you will endure forever!” The be¬ 
trothal. 


The Hi^h School Freshman 

By CHARLES ULRICH. 

Price, 25 Cents 

High school comedy for boys, 3 acts; 12 males. Time, 2 hours. 
Scene: One set, a hall in a school building. Can be played on 
any platform. Characters: Harry Templeton, a freshman. Will 
Thornton, a senior. Jack Morrell, a football coach. James Clarke, 
a reckless broker’s son. Charlie Jackson, a yell master. Sam 
Belton, from the West. .lulius Cohen, from the Ghetto. Lew 
Sampson, a tool. Orrie Morton, a young dilettante. Si Harris, a 
country product. Ben Castle, not studious. Ross Finnerty, an 
Irish youngster. 

SYNOPSIS. 

Act I.—Students discuss the coming football game, “My father 
is a convict!” A true friend. Si Harris makes a discovery. The 
accusation. Search of Templeton’s locker. “I am innocent!” 

Act II.—Students gather for practice. Templeton refuses to 
play, Harris saves the day by exposing Clarke’s duplicity. “We’ll 
will the cup, boys, or die!” 

Act III.—Getting ready for the football game. On the trail of 
the thief. A villain unmasked. The telegram. “My father is in¬ 
nocent!” The ovation. 


T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 

154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO 




II 1918 


Lexington 

By E. J. WHISLER. 

^ Price, 25 Cents 

Drama of the Revolutionary war, 4 acts; 9 males, 4 females. 
Time, 2^/4 hours. Scenes: 2 interiors, 1 exterior. Characters: 
Paul Revere, a patriot. Leslie, his friend. Cottrell, an innkeeper. 
Curtis, a blacksmith. Snaggsby, the village toper. Willoughby, 
Fairfield and Ogline, British soldiers, Remus, a darky servant. 
Dorothy, Paul’s betrothed. Mrs. Maddern, her mother. Poll 5 % 
Dorothy’s friend. Matilda, a colored servant. 

SYNOPSIS. 

Act I.—Snaggsby is refused liquor at the ale house. Dorothy 
learns a new song. Snaggsby sells the secret of the powder. 
Paul and Dorothy quarrel. Curtis refuses to serve the British. 
“I’ll show you whether you will shoe my horse or not!’’ Paul to 
his assistance. “If 3 ^ou harm one hair of her head, I’ll kill you!’’ 

Act II.—“Polly, take care of my girl.” Paul discovers Snaggs- 
by’s treachery. “I could kill you.” Paul plans to checkmate the 
British. “If I can prevent it you will not take that ride.” 

Act III.—Scene I: The ambush. “Take Revere, dead or alive.” 
The signal, “In the king’s name, surrender.” Fairfield is killed. 
“The war is on!” The pursuit. 

Act III.—Scene II: A call in the night. “To arms, minute 
men!” Paul is pursued by the British. The knock at the door. 
“Let me save you.” The discovery. “Oh, you have killed him!” 
Dorothy plans for Revere’s escape. Leslie to the rescue. “I am 
going to finish Revere’s side and save him!” 

Act IV.—Curtis is wounded. Paul and Dorothy are reconciled. 
“I love you more than my own soul!” The death of Curtis. “An¬ 
other martyr.” Willoughby attempts Revere’s life. “You are a 
prisoner of war.” 

“We gave ‘Lexington’ to the largest house ever seen here, 
Washington’s Birthday. It is great.”—J. B. Roberts, Greenback. 
Tenn. 


The Fatal Necklace 

By JOSEPH U. HARRIS and HAROLD B. ALLEN. 

Price, 25 Cents. 

A burlesque melodrama; 3 males, 2 females. Time, 25 minutes. 
Characters: The Villain, “Curse Him.” The Hero, “Unhand her, 
coward.” The Heroine, “I am innocent.” The Countess, “Sixteen 
years ago.” The Villainess, “Strike her.” A full evening melo¬ 
drama of thrills burlesqued and boiled down to a half hour of 
solid laughter. Can be produced on anj^ platform. 


When the Worm Turned 

By KATHARINE KAVANAUGH. 

Price, 25 Cents. 

Comedy; 2 males, 1 female. Time, 25 minutes. Jenkins, a con- 
vival chap, somewhat under the weather, returns home at a late 
hour and by mistake gets into Peck’s house, which adjoins his 
own and falls asleep on the couch. Later he is discovered 
Peck, a meek little fellow whose wife is domineering and unrea¬ 
sonably jealous. He sizes up the situation and decides to teach 
her a lesson, hence the worm turned with ludicrous results. 

T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 

^ 154 W, Randolph Street, CHICAGO 





/ 


DENISON’S ACTING PLAYS. 

Price 15 Cents Each, Postpaid, Unless Different Price is Given. 


M. F. 

Documentary Evidence, 25 min. 1 1 
Dude in a Cyclone, 20 min.... 4 2 

Family Strike, 20 min.3 3 

First-Class Hotel, 20 min.4 

For Love and Honor, 20 min.. 2 1 
Fudge and a Burglar, 15 min.. 5 
Fun in a Photograph Gallery, 

30 min.6 10 

Great Doughnut Corporation, 

30 min.3 5 

Great Medical Dispensary, 30 m. 6 
Great Pumpkin Case, 30 min...12 

Hans Von Smash, 30 min.4 3' 

Happy Pair, 25 min. 11 

I’m Not Mesilf at All, 25 min. 3 2 
Initiating a Granger, 25 min.. 8 
Irish Linen Peddler, 40 min... 3 3 

Is the Editor In? 20 min.4 2 

Kansas Immigrants, 20 min.... 5 1 

Men Not Wanted, 30 min. 8 

Mike Donovan’s Courtship, 15 m. 1 3 
Mother Goose’s Goslings, 30 m. 7 9 
Mrs. Carver’s Fancy Ball, 40 m. 4 3 
Mrs. Stubbius’ Book Agent, 30 

min.3 2 

My Lord in Livery, 1 hr.4 3 

My Neighbor’s Wife, 45 min... 3 3 

My Turn Next, 45 min.4 3 

My Wife’s Relations, 1 hr.4 6 

Not a Man in the House, 40 m. 5 

Obstinate Family, 40 min.3 3 

Only Cold Tea, 20 min.3 3 

Outwitting the Colonel, 25 min. 3 2 

Pair of Lunatics, 20 min.1 1 

Patsy O’Wang, 35 min.4 3 

Pat, the Apothecary, 35 min... 6 2 
Persecuted Dutchman, 30 min.. 6 3 

Regular Fix, 35 min.6 4 

Rough Diamond, 40 min.4 3 

Second Childhood, 15 min.2 2 

Slasher and Crasher, 50 min... 5 2 
Taking Father’s Place, 30 min.. 5 3 

Taming a Tiger, 30 min.3 

That Rascal Pat, 30 min...... 3 2 

Those Red Envelopes, 25 min. 4 4 
Too Much of a Good Thing, 45 

min.3 6 

Treasure from Egypt, 45 min. 4 1 

Turn Him Out, 35 min.3 2 

Two Aunts and a Photo, 20 m.. 4 

Two Bonnycastles, 45 min.3 3 

Two Gentlemen in a Fix, 15 m. 2 
Two Ghosts in White, 20 min.. 8 

Two of a Kind, 40 min.2 3 

Uncle Dick’s Mistake, 20 min.. 3 2 
Wanted a Correspondent, 45 m. 4 4 

Wanted a Hero, 20 min.1 1 

Which Will He Marry? 20 min. 2 8 

j Who Is Who? 40 min.3 2 

^ Wide Enough for Two, 45 min. 5 2 

Wrong Baby, 25 min. 8 

Yankee Peddler, 1 hr..7 3 


VAUDEVILLE SKETCHES. ^.ON- 
OLOGUES. ETHIOPIAN PLAYS. 

M. F. 

Ax’in’ Pier Father, 25 min.2 3 

Booster Club of Blackville, 25 m.lO 
Breakfast Food for Two, 20 m.. 1 1 

Cold Finish, 15 min.2 1 

Coon Creek Courtship, 15 min.. 1 1 
Coontown Thirteen Club, 25 m. 14 

Counterfeit Bills, 20 min.1 1 

Doings'of a Dude, 20 min.2 1 

Dutch Cocktail, 20 min.2 

Five Minutes from Yell College, 

15 min.2 

For Reform, 20 min.4 

P'resh Timothy Hay, 20 min... 2 1 
Glickman, the Glazier, 25 min.. 1 1 

Handy Andy (Negro), 12 min.. 2 

Her Hero, 20 min.1 1 

Hey, Rube! 15 min.1 

Home Run, 15 min.1 1 

Hot Air, 25 min.2 1 

Jumbo Jum, 30 min.4 3 

Little Red School House, 20 m. 4 

Love and Lather, 35 min.3 2 

Marriage and After, 10 min... 1 
Mischievous Nigger, 25 min... 4 2 

Mistaken Miss, 20 min.1 1 

Mr. and Mrs. Fido, 20 min.... 1 1 
Mr. Badger’s Uppers, 40 min.. 4 2 
One Sweetheart for Two, 20 m. 2 
Oshkosh Next W’eek, 20 min.. 4 

Oyster Stew, 10 min.2 

Pete Yansen’s Gurl’s Moder, 10 

min.1 

Pickles for Two, 15 min.2 

Pooh Bah of Peacetown, 35 min. 2 2 
Prof. Black’s Funnygraph, 15 m. 6 

Recruiting Office, 15 min.2 

Sham Doctor, 10 min.4 2 

Si and I, 15 min. 1 

Special Sale, 15 min.2 

Stage Struck Darky, 10 min... 2 1 
Sunny Son of Italy, 15 min... I 

Time Table, 20 rain.1 1 

Tramp and the Actress, 20 min. 1 1 

Troubled by Ghosts, 10 min . . . 4 
Troubles of Rozinski, 15 min.. 1 
Two Jay Detectives, 15 min... 3 

Umbrella Mender, 15 min.2 

Uncle Bill at the Vaudeville, 15 

min.1 

Uncle Jeff, 25 min.5 2 

Who Gits de Reward? 30 min.. 5*1 


A ^reat number of 
Standard and Amateur Plays 
not found here are listed In 
Denison’s Catalo|{ue. 


T. S. DENISON COMPANY, 154 W. Randolph SU Chicago 









































































POPULAR ENTERTj 

Price, Illustrated Paper C 


¥N this Series 
are found 
books touching: 
every feature 
in the enter¬ 
tainment field. 
Finely made, j 
grood paper, 
clear print and | 
each book has 
an attractive ! 
individual cov- . 
er desigrn. ] 


DIALOGUES 

All Sorts of Dialo({ues. 

Selected, fine for elder pupils. 
Catchy Comic Dialoiiues. 

New, clever: for young people. 
Children’s Comic Dialotfues. 

From six to eleven years of age. 
Dialogues from Dickens. 

Thirteen selections. 

The Friday Afternoon DialoiJues. 

5,1.000 copies sold. 

From Tots to Teens. 

Dialogues and recitations. 

Lively Dialoilues. 

For all ages; mostly humorous. 
When the Lessons are Over. 

Dialogues, drills, plays. 

Wide Awake Dialo^nes. 

Brand new, original, successful. 

SPEAKERS, MONOLOGUES 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



0 021 929 766 P 


Veiy- popular drills and marchies. 
The Favorite Book of Drills. 

Drills that sparkle with originality. 
Little Plays With Drills. 

For children from 6 to 11 years. 
The Surprise Drill Book. 

Fresh, novel, drills and marches. 


SPECIALTIES 

The Boys* Entertainer. 

Monologues, dialogues, drills. 
Children’s Party' Book. 

Plans, invitations, decorations, 
games. 

The Days We Celebrate. 

Entertainments for all the holidays. 
Good Things for Christmas. 

Recitations, dialogues, drills. 
The Little F oiks, or W ork and Play. 

A gem of a book. 

Little Folks’ BndiJet. 

Easy pieces to speak, songs. 

One Hundred Entertainments. 

New parlor diversions, socials. 
Patriotic Celebrations. 

Great variety of material. 

Pranks and Pastimes. 

Parlor games for children. 
Shadow Pictures, Pantomimes, 
Charades, and how to prepare. 
Tableaux and Scenic Readings. 

New and novel: for aii ages. 
Twinkling Finders and Swaying 
Figures. For little tots. 
Yuletide Entertainments. 

A choice Christmas collection. 


Choice Pieces for Little People. 

A child's speaker. 

The Comic Entertainer. 

Recitations.monologues.dialogues. 
Dialect Readlntjs. 

Irish, Dutch, Negro, Scotch, etc. 
The Favorite Speaker. 

Choice prose and poetry. 

The Friday Afternoon Speaker. 

For p-upils of all ages. 

Humorous Monoloi^ues. 

Particularly for ladies. 
Monologues for Younji Folks. 

Clever, h'umorous, original. 

Tiie Patriotic Speaker. 

blaster thoughts of masterminds. 
The Poetical Entertainer. 

For reading or speaking. 

Pomes ovthe PeepnI. 

Wit, humor, satire: funny poems, 
Scrap'Book Recitations. 

Choice collections, pathetic, hu- 
' morous. descriptive, prose, poe¬ 
try. 1-1 No's., per No. 23c. 


HAND BOOKS 

Thu Debater’s Handbook. 

Bound only in cloth. 50c. 
Everybody’s Letter Writer. 

, A handy manual. 

Good Manners. 

Etiquette in brief form. 

, Private Theatricals. 

I How to put on plays. 

Social Card Games, 
i Complete in brief form. 

MINSTRELS. JOKES 

Black American Joker. 

! Minstrels’ and end men's gags. 

A Bundle of Burnt Cork Comedy, 
* Monologues, stump speeches,etc. 

j Lau^hland, via the Ha-Ha Route, 
j ^ A merry trip for fim totmsts. 
j .Ne^ro Minstrels. 

I All about the business. 

The .New Jolly Jester, 
j Funny storie s, jokes, gags, etc. 

' Lar^e Illustrated Catalo({ue Free 


T« S. DEINISON C05IPANY, Poblisbers. 154 Randolph St.. Chica 4 









































